


Know It All

by tysonrunningfox



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Friends With Benefits, Hiccup is more of a setting than a character, Nudity, Snotstrid, cancer warning, creative dialogue, frenemies to lovers, if that's a warning, in story memes, like a cancer mention, math fetish, repeatedly, the cancer is also a setting, there's a lot of nudity and like 0 sex, there's lots of sex and no graphic sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 05:46:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 37,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10870362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tysonrunningfox/pseuds/tysonrunningfox
Summary: When you've known someone forever, it's easy to think they won't surprise you.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just as a note, this is unapologetically Snotstrid. I also think it's really funny and honest and I'm really proud of it and I'd appreciate it if you gave it a chance anyway. But also please don't read it just to complain about snotstrid, because you have been warned.

Facts about Astrid Hofferson:

  1. She’s from Berk
  2. She was prom queen and most likely to succeed in high school but she ended up at her safety school after losing a scholarship in the last couple months of senior year
  3. She likes blue and red gummy worms and black hospital coffee that tastes like dirt.
  4. She used to date Hiccup Haddock
  5. She also used to seem like the most intimidating but still hot person that could feasibly exist, but now she just kind of looks sad.



 

The best part about college is that not everyone has known Snotlout forever.  They weren’t there for the unibrow years, or that time he got a perm, or his cousin’s cancer that managed to turn a small town into a big pity party.  It’s a clean, baggage-free slate and by a couple weeks into the semester, Snotlout’s starting to get used to the privileges of no one knowing his long, convoluted life story. 

“A yacht?”  The guy he’s talking to—Blake?  Brent?—looks impressed and Snotlout continues talking, stretching his arm along the back of the couch and towards making a move. 

“Yeah, and I mean, it sucks keeping it moored in Monaco because like, there’s way better water off my Dad’s island in the Caribbean but they won’t let me stay in any of the hotels there after I cleaned the casinos out a couple of times, so you do what you gotta do.”

“That’s crazy, dude,” Brent-Blake is drunk and Snotlout takes another sip of his drink, trying to catch up at least some of the way.  “So like, your family is super rich then and you go to school here?” 

“I mean, my dad got me into like, Harvard and shit, but I’m more about beer and hanging out than wine and libraries or whatever.” 

“Do you live in a dorm?”  Brent-Blake asks and Snotlout takes a bigger swig of his drink.  “Or do you have like a sick apartment in the city or something?”

For all of college being better than high school, it’s still not perfect.  Snotlout’s busier than he’s used to, with classes at weird times and tests he has to actually study for to pass and practice being taken way more seriously than it ever was in high school, and while he’s dropped in to plenty of parties in the last couple of weeks, he hasn’t had any luck beyond some girl making out with him in a frat house laundry room.  Which…like, some dude’s boxers swirling in the glass door washing machine isn’t exactly ambiance. 

“I have a place in the city, but I mean, the dorm’s nice for when I want to be close-by, it’s just a couple buildings over if you wanted to see it—” Snotlout trails off from his offer when he sees the one and only Astrid Hofferson walk in, even though he hasn’t seen her anywhere near a party since the very first day of orientation. 

He sees her around, mostly in the athletic complex or the hallways between classes, and she always has that weird, blank expression on her face that first freaked him out at the hospital.  She looks around like she’s meeting someone or something, and like, good because he hasn’t seen her with any friends besides Ruffnut, but when she makes eye contact with him she waves like they know each other.  Which they don’t because the person she was until junior year of high school disappeared and she became some new thing that he doesn’t know at all. 

She takes a step to get a look at Brent-Blake and raises an eyebrow at him.  He gives her his best ‘get lost’ face and turns back to his conversation, because the last thing he needs right now is Astrid deciding they’re still friends or something.  Not that they ever were, they were opponents and then they were in the same place and then it was awkwardly disjointed. 

“Do you have pictures of the yacht there?”  Brent-Blake asks, like it’s not slutty to go home with someone who doesn’t know his name if he’s doing it under the pretense of seeing pictures of a non-existent yacht. 

“Yeah, I have like, the plans for the renovations we’re going to do next winter after we buy the second yacht.” 

Someone sits on the arm of the couch next to Snotlout and when he looks over, it’s inevitably Astrid, legs crossed and dangling as she looks almost appraisingly at Brent-Blake. 

“Who’s your friend?”  She leans on the back of the couch like she’s planning to stay a while and Snotlout rolls his eyes. 

“Come on, Astrid.” 

“Come on what?” 

“Could you like…fuck off?”  He takes a risk and leans a little further into Brent-Blake, arm settling heavy around his shoulders.  “Kind of having a conversation here?” 

“Ooh, about what?”  She gives him an evil look that’s not quite conspiratorial and never reaches her eyes. 

She started to think they were better friends than they were when Hiccup was sick and she mostly dropped that façade when Hiccup left, but maybe college is starting out lonelier than she’d expected because here she is, pretending to have fun bugging him when it’s clear she’d rather be anywhere else.  He was kind of excited when he first saw her in the hospital waiting room, because he’d hung out there far too much the summer before senior year when his mom first decided that Hiccup needed a mother figure to be with him nearly constantly and at least if Astrid was there he’d have someone to bug, but it was like she never actually showed up.  That Astrid he’d practically idolized as long as he could remember was…limp.  Sad.  Tired.  So absolutely subject to whatever Hiccup said that he didn’t recognize any of it. 

Either she never showed up or more likely, he’d just outgrown his childhood crush on her where he thought she was just…more.  Like no one is that tough and crazy and she grew up hot, like, obvious easy hot that removes people’s personalities, and her boyfriend was sick and she was that banal ‘nice weather we’re having’ kind of polite and it invalidated a big chunk of his pubescence, to be honest. 

“About Scott’s yacht, they’re getting another one soon,” Brent-Blake ruins everything with his big, beautiful mouth and Astrid nods, like she’s mulling that over. 

It’s weird, because he can’t help but see Hiccup, looking at that, like he rubbed off on her in a way that’s making her pretend to be funny the way Hiccup does even months later. 

“His yacht, right.  Because _Scott’s_ family is really rich, I’m guessing.”  She taps her chin and thinks for a minute in that exaggerated, Hiccup way before nodding, “a little tacky to pick people up like that but ok.  It’s too bad about his parents though.” 

“What happened to your parents?”  Brent-Blake is drunk enough to look interested and for a second Snotlout almost feels bad about wishing she weren’t here, because that could help his angle. 

“I don’t like to talk about the accident, Astrid, you know that.” 

“I do, so well,” she pats his shoulder, “but you can’t just…let people in without letting them know first, _Scott_.”  She squeezes, hard enough that he’s vaguely intimidated by her for the first time in recent history.  It’s annoying, because he’s doing something and she’s probably only doing it because she knows that and at some level they’re always going to annoy each other.  Because no matter how weird and flat and nice she got, she’d always threaten to crack if he said the right things. 

It just got less fun when it got harder. 

“Did they crash the yacht?”  Brent-Blake asks, and wow, he’s wasted, the kind of wasted that Snotlout wouldn’t feel so bad jumping on if Astrid didn’t have to show up with that moral face. 

“Obviously,” Astrid crosses her legs, squeezing his shoulder again, “after they heard the news.” 

“What news?” Brent-Blake asks, sloshed and invested. 

“I mean, it wasn’t really news,” Snotlout pauses for dramatic effect and Astrid jumps all over it, continuing this streak of being generally irritating.  

“Because they raced to keep it from the papers,” she shrugs and lets go of that death grip on him, “the fact that she was adopted and they were actually brother and sister.” 

Brent-Blake blinks.  Snotlout looks at Astrid, furious.  And honestly, something surprisingly along the margin of halfway impressed.  He didn’t think she had it in her anymore but here she is, being spectacularly aggravating at the literal worst time ever. 

She doesn’t look like Hiccup now, she looks like a shadow of that unique nuisance he used to admire. 

“Dude,” Snotlout says flatly, and Astrid nods like the whole situation is deeply tragic. 

“He doesn’t want people to know.” 

“Who are you?”  Brent-Blake asks her and Astrid shrugs, looping her arm through Snotlout’s. 

“His sister.” 

“Fuck this,” Brent-Blake staggers to his feet and stumbles back to the rest of the party and Astrid stands up from the arm of the couch, chugging her drink like that was all exactly what she wanted. 

“What the hell was that?” 

“I thought I was helping?” Astrid shrugs, walking back towards the makeshift bar on a folding table on the other side of the living room. 

“Just because you’re all miserable and dateless doesn’t mean I have to be.”  He doesn’t know why he’s following her, except that she pissed him off and he at least wants to know _why_. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”  She gets some punch, like she’s here to get drunk, not have fun and she won’t look at him and that’s even more infuriating. 

“You’re just moping around all alone so you decide to ruin my night—”

“Who says I’m dateless?” 

“You’re talking to me.”  He gets some punch too, because apparently he gets to deal with this now and this was supposed to be a good night. 

“Fair.”  Astrid sighs like she wants to leave and _fine_ , she should.  But she doesn’t.  She’s wearing some of the shortest shorts he’s ever seen and he keeps looking down at her legs because it’s basically an expert distraction tactic.  “But I’m not moping around and even if I were that wouldn’t mean I was dateless.” 

“But you are.” 

“Shut up.”  Astrid huffs, “and you weren’t on a date, that was you capitalizing on drunk, college bi-curiosity  and that means you don’t get to comment on whether I’m dateless or not.” 

“Yeah, only your own smug face at causing my blue balls gets to do that.” 

“Blue balls aren’t a thing, are you thirteen?”  She crosses her arms and for a second he half believes she might be about to fight him.  “And if it were a thing, it’s your problem because they’re your balls.  Definitionally.” 

“It’s psychological.”  He’s annoyed but not the way he used to be.  It’s like he’s waiting for her to offer to pool her change for the hospital vending machine, like he wanted a peace offering more than a conversation, but she’s not giving him that.  If she tried to smooth this over it would work, but she’s not and it’s annoying because he thought she couldn’t get under his skin anymore. 

“So suddenly it’s my fault you can’t get laid, how convenient—”

“When you walk over and introduce yourself as my _sister_ —”

“You make a hilarious face—“

“—it becomes your fault.”  He sighs and tries to stay angry, but mostly it’s just sad because she thought that was going close to somewhere and…he looks around and sees people looking and fine.  Fine.  “And now I’ve spent tonight being seen with _you_ and making myself even more untouchable.” 

Her face twitches like she’s trying to figure out if that’s a compliment or not, and it’s _not_ , because it’s just the truth.  She’s hot but she’s also acting like the human version of a splinter or a rock in his shoe. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Now everyone less hot than you—and that’s at least everyone here—doesn’t’ think they have a shot, which like…fair,” he waves his hand at himself, “but come on.” 

She rolls her eyes and does some weird approximation of awkward that she just isn’t but she looks at him like she wishes he’d spontaneously catch on fire and that’s halfway authentic. 

“I guess I should leave you alone with the miniscule chance you can salvage the rest of your night.” 

“And if I can’t you’ll assume fault—”

“Yeah, no,” she shakes her head, like she’s trying to resist the urge to stand there and fight with him and she must really actually be lonely. 

Which is kind of sad and really weird and not what he wants to think about right now. 

“If I go home with psychological blue balls I’m blaming you.” 

“Anything that makes you feel better about your lack of game,” she pats him on the shoulder hard enough that he flinches and how did he forget how freakishly, annoyingly strong she’s always been? 

“Not my problem, your sabotage is my problem.” 

“Not if I go home,” she finishes her drink in one big swallow, cringing at the fact there must have been at least two shots in that much shitty punch, “I’m not really in a party mood.” 

“Right, just an annoy Snotlout mood.” 

“Do I have other moods?” 

There’s a weird feeling that if she kept talking he might end up laughing, but she doesn’t, she waves one last time and leaves and he doesn’t feel like tracking down Brent-Blake at all.  He honestly feels a little unsettled, like he just saw the shadow of the monster under his childhood bed out of the corner of his eye.  That version of Astrid he just talked to isn’t supposed to exist anymore. 


	2. Chapter 2

Facts about Snotlout Jorgenson:

  1. He’s Hiccup’s cousin
  2. He’s always been profoundly, uniquely annoying and also constantly around
  3. He’s an idiot
  4. He does not have a row boat, let alone a yacht
  5. He’s like a little piece of Berk that hasn’t changed along with the rest of it



Ruffnut snores.  Astrid isn’t sure how she didn’t know that before they became roommates, but she guesses they didn’t usually sleep much at sleepovers growing up.  And usually it’s not a problem, because Astrid goes to sleep earlier and she’s not easy to wake up but apparently it’s more than capable of keeping her awake. 

Right.  Because Ruffnut’s snoring is what’s really wrong.  Totally. 

She thought it would start to feel normal here at some point.  That she’d forget that she was supposed to be somewhere else with someone else doing something else if she kept herself busy but she’s been in practice for a month and class for two weeks and she’s still…off.  And it’s not like she’s never had to deal with a shifting reality, she knows all about that and she thought she was good at it because well…she didn’t freak out for a second when her boyfriend almost died and lost a leg, she was solid and she thought that being solid could make her life solid, but it can’t, apparently, sometimes being solid just means hitting the ground harder.  Sometimes being solid just means that everything feels weird for longer. 

Honestly the most normal she’s felt in a long time was when Snotlout saw her and just…got right to the glaring.  That’s why she went over and talked to him, because he wasn’t treating her like she was annoying or walking wounded.  Well, he was acting like she was annoying but that’s what he always does when he’s not hitting on her, which he honestly hasn’t even done in a while and it was weirdly a pleasant surprise when he called her hot so casually because that felt like an old brand of normal. 

Because when Snotlout used to hit on her, she still had a chance at…well, everything. 

And even though that conversation was weird, because he just had to be gross and steer it into talking about sex and that’s not anywhere near the tiny little sliver where the spheres of their lives intersect, because just _no_ , it was a good kind of weird where everything felt normal but also unexpected, like for the first time in a while she didn’t know what was going to happen next but that it probably wouldn’t be horrible.  Because there aren’t any secrets there, he knows what happened, he knows that it sucked, he’s not going to casually mention it in a way that makes her feel like shit because chances are it’d make him feel bad too. 

She kind of wonders why she hasn’t attempted to hang out with him more, now that she thinks about it as an option.  More than anyone else he was…there.  She wonders if Hiccup texts him back or if that’s radio silent too. 

She picks up her phone and looks at the time, frowning because it’s too late and too early to text without it meaning something it doesn’t but…then again, it is _Snotlout_ , someone so far from her sphere of late night texting that it just might not matter.  Plus, if he’s asleep or thinks it’s weird he just…won’t answer and that’s fine, she’s not super emotionally invested in the idea of talking to him. 

Astrid (2:47am): Did your night stay ruined? 

She feels better for sending it, even though that doesn’t make sense, and she almost goes to sleep instead of waiting for a response, but he answers more quickly than she expects. 

Snotlout (2:51am): don’t flatter yourself my game is bulletproof

Astrid (2:52am): If your game is so great, why are you texting me back?

Snotlout (2:52am): do you want to hear me gloat? because I’ll gloat

She snorts because he’s so _predictable_.  This is exactly how she thought this would go, he’d say something stupid and get all ruffled up and she’d be happy about that because well…it’s not the most mature or productive emotion, but it’s nice to affect someone like that.  It’s like she’s really there existing and acting purposefully instead of just drifting forward like she’s supposed to.  She’s making the…illogical decision to text Snotlout at three in the morning and piss him off and she’s succeeding. 

Astrid (2:54am): Please do, fictional victory stories always put me right to sleep

Snotlout (2:55am): then text ruffnut

Astrid (2:55am): haha  
Astrid (2:55am): I would but she’s snoring and I’m already talking to you

Snotlout (2:56am): yeah why are you doing that

It’s a half decent point and Astrid thinks about just…stopping.  Because she _should_ and because she doesn’t have a good reason to do this but she also doesn’t have a reason not to and maybe doing the reasonable thing hasn’t been so great for her lately. 

Astrid (3:00am): I just can’t believe you tried to blame blue balls on me, I’m not over it  
Astrid (3:01am): Hell, I can’t believe you forced me to conceptualize the fact that you have balls and that they could theoretically be blue  
Astrid (3:01am): Not that it’s an actual thing, at all

Snotlout (3:02am): you weren’t aware of the fact I had balls?  
Snotlout (3:02am): and I always thought you were smarter than me

Astrid (3:03am): Why would I ever have to be aware of your balls?  
Astrid (3:03am): and god, why are we still talking about balls, this is awful

Snotlout (3:04am): you brought it up!!

Astrid (3:05am): I think I’m having a mid-life crisis

She hits send before she can take it back.  She doesn’t know why she’s telling Snotlout, of all people, but it feels good to tell someone.  Even though it’s dramatic and probably untrue, but everything Snotlout says is dramatic and untrue so maybe he is the perfect audience. 

Snotlout (3:05am): are you having a stroke

Astrid (3:06am): I’m not having a stroke, I’m having an epiphany

Snotlout (3:06am): youre 18 you aren’t having a midlife crisis

Astrid (3:07am): I could die at 36

Snotlout (3:07am): youre going to live to like 130 and still be hot probably

There it is again, him just…casually throwing it out there that she’s hot.  Like it’s obvious and almost irritating and it feels good in a way that should be awkward because it’s Snotlout and she should hate him hitting on her but he’s really not.  He just thinks she’s hot and there’s nothing bad about feeling _something_ about that, right?  It’s not pride and she wasn’t sitting around waiting for him to notice her but he obviously does and that makes her feel like there’s another thing she didn’t lose. 

Astrid (3:08am): you’re into 130 year olds?  Interesting. 

Snotlout (3:08am): don’t you have other friends

Astrid (3:09am): None who think I’m going to be a sexy centenarian

She just said the word ‘sexy’ to Snotlout after talking about balls and it’s a weird, surreal experience that makes her think this is one of those hyper-realistic dreams.  It’s like when Hiccup was sick and she’d just…dream him better and be disappointed when it was morning and everything was the same and she still couldn’t help.  But this isn’t serious, it’s not important, it’s stupid and she’s feeling bubbly and weird and overtired in that headachy, not drunk anymore way. 

Maybe the isolation is starting to get to her, it’s not like she’s been putting much effort into making friends.  She could just want to talk to someone other than Ruffnut, who’s more freshman psychology than friend lately.  And Snotlout isn’t _bad_ to talk to, necessarily, and he’s upfront enough with how annoying he finds this that she knows he’s being honest.

Snotlout (3:10am): do you have a point

Astrid (3:10am): Obviously not, I’m still talking to you

Snotlout (3:11am): maybe youre the one with blue balls since youre like texting dudes to chat about them having balls at booty call ocock  
Snotlout (3:11am): *o’clock

She scoffs out loud, scrolling briefly back through the conversation to find something to yell at him about, but he’s right, she brought it up and she has no idea why the hell she’d do that. 

Astrid (3:12am): Because that’s a typo people make  
Astrid (3:13am): and I do not have blue balls because it’s not a thing   
Astrid (3:13am): and booty call o’clock isn’t a time, there’s so much wrong with what you’re saying I can’t even list it all

She sits up in bed and hangs her feet over the edge of her mattress, kicking her heels against the top rung of the ladder on her lofted bed.  Because this is ridiculous, is she actually awake and seeing this?  He’s…an idiot.  So far from anyone she would ever booty call, if people even say that anymore, because she doesn’t think they do. 

That’s why she didn’t feel weird texting him at three in the morning, because it couldn’t possibly be weird because she’s Astrid and he’s Snotlout and that’s just…no. 

But he thinks she’s hot and he keeps saying it like he wants her to know and now he’s accusing her of having blue balls like he’s thinking about the last time she had sex like it’s not even weird for him even though he has to know it was with his cousin and that it’s not of his business.  And he’s just insane.  And this isn’t something that happens, not to her, not…

And there’s maybe a little sliver of a chance that he’s not necessarily entirely wrong.  Because she has a roommate now and she’s busy and she’s…not looking for anything because of that whole complicated thing where Hiccup thought something was finished that doesn’t feel finished to her.  But theoretically, being pent up could be contributing to this general feeling that something’s wrong and the overbearing pressure that she should be doing something to fix it.  Maybe she doesn’t need to work harder, maybe she needs to _relax_. 

But she wouldn’t text Snotlout to figure that out.  That’s the impossible to fill gap in this line of logic.  She wouldn’t text Snotlout about having a midlife crisis because he blamed blue balls on her at some stupid party.  Except it’s not as crazy as she wants to think it is, because well…she did text him and bring up his balls and it’s late and she’s thinking crazy, wrong things that shouldn’t be possible, let alone make as much sense as they’re starting to.   

Snotlout (3:14am): im just stating the obvious

Astrid (3:15am): is that what you’re doing when you keep calling me hot?

Snotlout (3:15am): I have eyes

Astrid (3:16am): why doesn’t it feel weird when you say that?

He types something but obviously deletes it because the dots go away and he’s just leaving her hanging in this bizarre place where she’s thinking about the fact that he’s…a grown _guy_ now and not the chubby 14-year-old that ruined her birthday cake with a catastrophic cannonball into the pool and…and some part of her is absurdly aware of that right now.  He’s different and physically grown up the same way that she is and it’s not that little lurch in her chest when Hiccup smiled but it’s something.  Curiosity.  That weird, competitive anger he still brings out in her even though she should be more mature than this. 

She hates that she’s thinking about _it_.  About the fact that Snotlout is a grown guy who has probably done everything she has and more and it’s…weird.  Weird like it shouldn’t be to talk to him at three in the morning, because he’s Snotlout and she pretty much hates him so anything like that could never happen.  They’ve known each other too long, there’s too much stupid, childish history. 

Astrid (3:18am): ok but if we ever made out I wouldn’t be able to think of anything but your cannonball phase and you’d probably just think about the headgear I used to have and that kind of thing doesn’t work when you know and dislike each other so much

Snotlout (3:18am): now I’m sure youre having a stroke

Astrid (3:19am): I’m not having a stroke

Snotlout (3:19am): because it sounds like youre trying to convince me to try and hook up with you and thats definitely a trick so…

She looks over at Ruffnut who’s still snoring, louder even if that’s possible and…and…and she doesn’t remember the last time she just said fuck it and did something without thinking it through and Snotlout is something and if she’s stuck here she might as well be stupid because no one cares anyway.  For the first time no one caring feels like freedom instead of a demand to be better. 

Astrid (3:20am): is Tuff there?

Snotlout (3:20am): did you just ask me if my roommate is here

Astrid (3:21am): I think we should have sex while I think it’s a good idea which isn’t going to last long so…  
Astrid (3:21am): Maybe I am having a stroke

Snotlout (3:22am): if you want a piece of the snotman you sound more sane than ever

Astrid swears at her phone, climbing out of bed and stepping into her flip-flops because fuck, she’s doing this and it’s stupid and she’s going to regret it but at least she will have done something regrettable instead of just sitting here instead of where she wants to be.  Fuck it, she’s saying fuck it, she grabs her keys and texts him back as she steps into the dimly lit hallway. 

Astrid (3:23am): I want the whole thing, just very, very, VERY briefly

Snotlout (3:23am): I can handle brief

Astrid (3:23am): You’re so stupid, oh my god, you don’t tell a girl coming to have sex with you that you can handle brief  
Astrid (3:24am): what’s your room number?

Snotlout (3:24am): richardson hall 240

She puts her phone in her pocket and starts walking, thinking that at any second common sense is going to smack her down and she’ll stop, but she doesn’t and she gets there and… _fuck it_. 


	3. Chapter 3

Facts about Astrid:

  1. She proved herself wrong about booty call o’clock, it is a thing and it happened
  2. She had sex with Snotlout Jorgenson at like 3 am on a random Friday and it _happened_
  3. She’s so hot it’s actually a joke and _It_. _Happened_.
  4. She can get naked really fast and with almost no pretense at all and she _did_.
  5. She’s a cover hog



 

“What the fuck?”  Snotlout mutters, staring at the ceiling because if he looks next to him, he’ll see Astrid, naked and covering herself with his hoarded sheet, her shoulder pressing against his.  She’s still breathing hard, he’s still breathing hard except he’s cold too because she won’t share the blankets and that’s the only thing making this seem real because of course Astrid would be a stingy blanket stealer, it’s just so _her_. 

“I should go.” 

“I mean, that just…happened, right?”  He sits up halfway and looks around at his completely normal dorm room that just happens to have a pile of Astrid’s pajamas right in front of the door. 

“I should _go_ ,” she says again but doesn’t get up.  Her hair is half stuck to one side of her sweaty neck and she’s biting a slightly swollen lip and she looks like she just had sex and she _did_ , with him and what the fuck, did he just fall headfirst into a middle school math class daydream? 

Except in middle school he wouldn’t have known anything about half of what just happened. 

She looks at him like she’s working through the same momentary disbelief and he’s _naked_ and Astrid is practically assessing him and he yanks the blanket hard enough to cover his lap and that’s her naked _everything_ and he touched it all like five minutes ago when she got naked in his room and had sex with him.  And it’s impossible because he didn’t even try, she just like, suggested it and no, he wasn’t going to say no, because look at her and because it was her fault that he wasn’t with someone else.  And honestly he didn’t think she was going to show up, the chances of it being a prank Ruffnut was pulling after stealing her phone was way too high. 

And then she was here and stripping and kissing him downright violently and…and that _happened_. 

“Are you always that intense?”  He blurts out, flopping back down next to her and their sides are touching in a naked way even though she keeps saying she should go. 

“What?”

“Are you always that…strip at the door and jump on a guy intense?” 

“Are you complaining about how fast I got naked?”  She glares at him, yanking at the blanket again and taking even more of his pillow. 

“I’m just saying you were super eager—”

“You’re one to talk,” she’s flushing dark enough that he can see it even with all the lights off and he’d feel bad for embarrassing her if it weren’t so completely impossible in his mind until this moment, “but I can’t say you didn’t warn me about brevity—”

“I made up for it!”  He elbows her and her naked side is bonier than he would have expected but she still doesn’t flinch, “and sue me, I don’t normally get attacked by naked hot girls—”

“Why are you still calling me hot?  Do you think that’s going to work twice?” 

“I don’t think it worked once!  I think you had a stroke and it made you want to have sex with me—”

“I didn’t have a stroke.”  She sits up, holding the blanket to her chest, “I should really go.” 

“Then go—”

“Maybe I was eager because it’s been a while, dude, I wouldn’t make fun of you for that,” she snaps and glares over her shoulder, that impossible blush spreading down her neck. 

“Of course you would.” 

“Yeah, but you’re _you_.”  She sighs.  “Sorry.” 

“All I had to do to get a ‘sorry’ out of you was have sex with you?” 

She drops the sheet and climbs over him, finally making good on her repeated promise that she’s going to go.  She bends over to pick up her pants and he scrambles to cover up before she notices what walking around naked is doing to him because it’s been a while for him too and he’s a guy. 

“You aren’t going to like…tell anyone about this, right?”  She pulls up her pants and puts a tank top back on before turning her sweatshirt right side out.  He’s never seen her in pajamas before and it’s almost weirder than seeing her naked.  When she was naked she was the Astrid he thought he didn’t quite remember, all demanding and focused and strong, but in pajamas she just looks tired and soft and it feels like he’s not supposed to see it. 

“Would anyone believe me if I did?” 

“Fair,” she laughs, pausing and fiddling with the sleeve of her sweatshirt before looking up at him.  She does that weird awkward shrug thing he hates and her shirt is partially see through and it’s confusing his dick, honestly.  “Was that—I mean, that was alright.” 

“I thought it was too _brief_.” 

“You made up for it,” she bites her lip and a generally polite expression shifts to annoyance when he doesn’t read her mind, “did you think it was alright?” 

“I’m never just _alright_.”  He tries to sound confident but feels that falter a little bit because if anyone’s going to give a harsh review before she’s even fully dressed, it’s Astrid. 

“Right,” she pulls her sweatshirt over her head and checks her pockets like she’s making sure she has everything like she’s actually going to go now instead of just talking about it.  “And you’re not going to tell anyone?” 

“What if I do?” 

“I’ll kick your ass,” she falters as she says it, like she’s out of the habit of threatening people but then her expression hardens and he almost believes her.  It’s more believable than the fact that she just asked to have sex with him and then did it. 

“I’m not going to tell anyone.” 

“Good.”  She reaches for his door and gives him an awkward little nod, “see you around.  Maybe.” 

“Yeah, sure.” 


	4. Chapter 4

Facts about Snotlout:

  1. He has a bigger dick than anticipated, that is if anyone has ever anticipated it
  2. He takes awkwardly long to get naked
  3. He was sort of quiet and serious in bed which was unexpected but not necessarily unappreciated
  4. After years of not wondering about it, it is confirmed that he shaves his chest
  5. Not bad. Pretty alright, in fact



 

Sex with Hiccup was always on his schedule for a million understandable reasons.  They weren’t together when he wasn’t sick, really, and they were both inexperienced and it’s not like it happened early or all that often even until he finally heard the magical ‘remission’ word in March and he left in July and they obviously weren’t on perfect terms leading up to that.  So sex isn’t something that ever really became part of Astrid’s life.  Or her former life, that is. 

But something about the casual practicality of that night is sticking to her.  It made her feel…successful.  Like for the first time in a long time, she wanted something and got it.  She wanted an outlet, she did something stupid, she felt _better_ for a while.  Less like she’s spiraling with no destination or plowing forward towards somewhere she doesn’t even want to go.

It was the fast food cheeseburger of sex, quick, practical, emotionally affordable.  A little stupidly crave-able even though she knows what it’ll do to her arteries and her pride.

Because now she can’t stop thinking about it, and not in a romantic way because _no_ , but…for that to have been so easy, Snotlout had to have been right.  He had to look at her and talk to her and identify that she was pent up before she could do it herself and that feels weird.  Weirder than the fact that they had sex, which is surprisingly not upsetting her the way it feels like it should. 

And it makes sense that she wasn’t good at recognizing that because the only person she’d ever been with had a few more physical worries on his plate than she did and it’s never been on her schedule and it doesn’t mean she’s stupid or naïve or any of those things she feels when confronting the fact that Snotlout could read her that easily.  Because if Snotlout knows, that means other people know, because he doesn’t even know her that well and while he’s maybe not the _least_ emotionally sensitive person ever, he’s not the most either.  And now it’s his fault that she knows that one of the million things making it harder to deal with adjusting here has a cure. 

And it’s an easy cure, and a stupid cure, and an impossible cure because it’s not like she can just…go out and have sex with somebody.  Or well, she could, theoretically, but she one, doesn’t know how to do that, two, paid attention in health class, and three, if she’s weird or bad how the fuck does she explain that the only other people she’s ever been with are her ex-boyfriend who she doesn’t think she’s over yet and oh, his cousin. 

Because she just had to dig that hole a little deeper for herself. 

“What’s with you today?”  Ruffnut asks her when she slams her locker door shut after practice on Monday and she clenches her teeth.  “You’re all slammy.” 

“You just want to practice your psycho-babble.” 

Ruffnut sighs, “kind of, we just started a new unit on angry roommates who slam things and don’t tell you why.” 

“That’s not a thing.”

“Ok, it’s about interpersonal relationships.  I can’t wait until I’m in the cool classes,” she huffs, “there’s nothing on serial killers until like criminal psych 315 and even if I ignore math completely I can’t squeeze that in until the second semester of my sophomore year.” 

“It’s not even a little interesting until then?”  Astrid does her best to sound authentically interested.  And she is, really, she’s happy for Ruffnut doing something she’s really enthusiastic about, even if it started a little rough. 

But at the same time, she’s undeclared because the major she wanted doesn’t exist at this school, so she’s majoring in gen-ed like Snotlout, or something. 

Because everything leads back to Snotlout today.  Snotlout and his 24-hour sex drive thru. 

“I mean, it’s better than high school, obviously.”  Ruffnut smiles, “living with you is generally better than living with Tuffnut too, you smell better and don’t need me to hit you as much.   I wonder how Snotlout’s adapting.” 

“I don’t know, haven’t talked to him.”  She lies because she’s not going to give it away especially if Snotlout hasn’t blabbed yet. 

Why hasn’t he?  Why hasn’t she had to tell anyone it was bullshit?  He’s had a whole weekend. 

“I have like a couple of times but we don’t have any classes together.  Not that it’s a bad thing, because I’m done with him hitting on me—”

“Which, to be fair, you made very clear when you attempted to not only put his drunk self in a shallow grave but also fill in that grave.” 

“Right?  I think it finally sunk in though.  That’s the official Snotlout learning threshold, we should make a note.”

“Noted.”  Astrid taps the side of her head and picks up her backpack.  “You going straight back to the dorm?” 

“Nah, I think I’m going to get something to eat with Tuff, you’re more fun to live with but he’s more fun to eat with.  He never finishes and always shares.” 

“Sounds good, see you later,” Astrid holds the door open and they go opposite directions outside of the locker room. 

“Hope you stop being so slammy,” Ruffnut calls over her shoulder as she rounds the corner and Astrid shakes her head, immediately losing her battle with a bad mood. 

It’s just…stupid.  She did a stupid thing and now she feels weird about it for all the wrong reasons and that should be enough, people shouldn’t keep bringing up Snotlout like he’s a secret little barb to hurl in her face.  It’s like they know even though they can’t because there’s no way anyone would keep that secret if they did. 

She cuts through the west wing of the athletic complex because it’s faster to the back door of her dorm and doesn’t take her by Richardson Hall, but of course, it’s a bad decision just like the rest of them.  Snotlout is in the hallway outside the boys’ locker room with a couple of his teammates and he sees her and even if he hadn’t, she couldn’t have turned and run away because then she’d be a person who runs away from her stupid decisions instead of committing head on.  He looks like he’s thinking the same thing, like he wishes he could run but is just too stubborn.  His teammates start walking off together and then it’s just the two of them them, and he’s not walking and she’s slowing down and it’s a little bit nightmarish, honestly. 

He clears his throat. 

She says hi and it comes out angrier than she wants it to because she’s not angry, she’s not anything.  He looks like he doesn’t believe that even though she doesn’t say it out loud and it’s stupid decision number five hundred, or something, when she stops in front of him. 

“Why haven’t you told anyone?”  She blurts out, “it’s been like two whole days.” 

“Because I said I wouldn’t?”

She rolls her eyes, “right, your moral code has always been super upstanding—”

“Ok, you don’t like the truth, how about no one at this school cares if I slept with the not-so-great-anymore Astrid Hofferson?” 

“You can’t preface your insults by saying they aren’t true.”  She sighs because this is dumb and she doesn’t know why she’s doing it.  Maybe it’s because of that little bubble of no secrets again, the one she didn’t realize she was shrinking when she did something she had to keep from Ruffnut.  “Thanks, I guess, for not telling anyone.” 

“You’re welcome.”  He smiles an irritating, smug little smile.  She really would have expected him to be smug in bed and it’s still bugging her that he wasn’t.  Just kind of serious.  Quiet.  Like he was scared if he said anything she’d leave, which, that’s fair, she might have.  “Are you sure you didn’t come this way just to find me? Because, I get it, once isn’t enough.” 

“You’re disgusting,” she wrinkles her nose, “and an idiot.  And you probably were just lurking here waiting for me.” 

“I can really promise you that I wasn’t.”  He looks at her kind of strangely, like it’s hitting him that he saw her naked.  But it doesn’t feel gross or violating, somehow, because that’s not the part of any of this that she feels weird about.  He didn’t tell anyone, he read her better than she was reading herself.  He knows her better than she knows him and that doesn’t seem possible and she shouldn’t care, but somehow she still does. “I don’t have time to argue with you _every_ day.” 

“Right, because you’re so busy making up your next rich kid lie to get laid all by yourself with no help—”

“I can do it all by myself whenever I feel like, Astrid.” 

“Do you hear yourself talk?”  She laughs, because only he can stand there so furious and say things like that, and God, if that’s a thrill, she needs to do something new with her life.  “Like when you say words out loud do you think about what they mean—”

“I liked you better when you were having sex with me.” 

“There’s my answer,” she sighs, trying not to feel weird that he just said that out loud and that it’s true and that she’s oddly done grieving over it.  “And of course we got along better when we were actively…you know.” 

“Can you not say it?”  He speaks slowly and _loudly_ and like he wants to be punched in the face.  “Having.  Sex.” 

“So we’re going to talk about it?  I’m not included in the ignorantly blissful masses who never have to hear about it ever?” 

“Someone’s full of herself, there’s not anything to hear about, the lights were off, I was half asleep, honestly—”

“I can think of at least a couple _brief_ little moments you were very awake—”

“I made up for it!”  He snaps, “you’re the one who’s not dropping it, I was just going about my business, and here you come into my wing—”

“You don’t own a wing and if you did I wouldn’t be seen near it.” 

He’s right. Again. She’s not dropping it.  She’s over here getting angry and frustrated and flustered all over again and it’s stupid and it’s not like this has ever been not stupid but there are dumb, dangerous thoughts racing through her head. 

Theoretically, it’s only her better judgment stopping them from doing it again.  Because she hates the on edge, anxious feeling of her blood under her skin and she hates that he seems to remember it differently than she does and selfishly, shallowly, she hates the idea that she’s forgettable a second time.  That she’s something to casually move on from. 

“I guess it just seems like a really big, weird thing to never mention.”  He crosses his arms and she looks at them because they’re there and she touched him and it was dark and she’s obviously completing her self-loathing downward spiral because he’s making sense. 

She’s avoided bigger, weirder things.  She and Hiccup spent three months without saying the C-word once, and she hated it.  She hates the control things gain when hidden behind closed doors, planning their next attack where she can’t see it. 

“It wasn’t that weird,” she shrugs, “honestly, I expected it to be way weirder, but it wasn’t.”

“I think we would have had to talk first for it to be weird, but you weren’t having any of that.” 

She laughs because it’s weird to remember it and take credit for it.  In her head it’s a strange thing that just…happened, like she wasn’t expressly involved much less driving the situation.  But she sort of did and that’s probably most of the reason she’s still thinking about it. 

“I, apparently, didn’t notice that I was a little pent up.” 

“I don’t blame you, having a stick up your butt is most of your personality.”  It’s not really a barb, it’s too quiet and too flat and Astrid should be insulted but she already committed to being stupid once. 

And looking at him and feeling that weird little rush that’s half rediscovered pre-destination and half that little nudge towards doing something wrong that she always ignored as a kid makes her want to be stupid again. 

“It could happen again, I guess, it sort of makes a perverse kind of sense if you think about it enough.” 

“Do you need me to like, call a doctor?”  He blinks at her, stunned, like for once in the last few months she made the stunning, stupid, radical decision and knocked everyone else off their feet.  She doesn’t know when she stopped being the one other people scrambled to keep up with but she missed it. 

“No, I’m just saying, it wasn’t weird, I know you’re not a serial killer—”

“I’m starting to think that you are.”  He looks at her like he thinks she’s hot and like this is an easier decision for him than it should be and how is it that they’re halfway on the same page when no one has really said it out loud.  “This isn’t a thing Astrid would say to me, of all people.  It’s…are you suggesting we just…have sex and not date?” 

“God no, no dating, just occasional sex.”  That sounds even worse and she thinks of how disappointed Astrid from a year ago would be. 

But really, in the grand scheme of fuck ups and wrong decisions for right reasons, Past-Astrid probably wouldn’t even touch on this one. 

“I’ve seen that movie, you fall in love with me and cramp my style,” he narrows his eyes and it’s infuriating and predictable and never ever going to catch her off guard or astound her and maybe people just get to want that sometimes. 

And maybe adults get to have sex with the wrong people for the wrong reasons.  Adults get to get that stupid fast food burger because they’re hungry and their emotional kitchen is still filthy from the last three course meal they cooked. 

“Trust me, buddy, I’m not going to fall in love with you.” 


	5. Chapter 5

Facts about Astrid:

  1. She’s bossy
  2. She’s quiet in a weirdly intense way that makes you feel like you’re doing something wrong
  3. There are weird moments when she’s unexpectedly shy, which doesn’t make any sense with how fast she gets her clothes off
  4. There’s an almost distracting feeling that she’s trying to win, somehow, and it’s kind of hot
  5. She doesn’t really seem to know what occasional means



 

“I don’t have to wear nice underwear,” Astrid announces to the world as she stands up out of his bed for the second time in like three days because that’s his life now, apparently, and college is so much better and stranger and more complicated than high school.  “That’s kind of refreshing.  I don’t have to shave my legs, I don’t care what you think.” 

“And I don’t have to pretend that’s decent pillow talk just because you’re hot.” 

“I don’t have to take it to heart that you call me hot, I can still be really irritated about it.” 

“Even though you like it enough to have sex with me _twice_ ,” he holds up two fingers and god, those fingers just touched things he’d forgotten to dream about for so long that he could almost experience them with fresh eyes.  And hands. 

And for someone who gets naked so fast, Astrid takes a long time to get dressed, turning clothes right side out before pulling them on like she’s really not in a hurry, even though she said she only had an hour after she ran into him in the hallway.  It only took fifteen minutes, again, and maybe she’s right, it’s a little refreshing to not be able to brag about anything, because he doesn’t have to make anything up or pretend that was anything that it wasn’t. 

Because it was just sex with no pretense or hoops to jump through between two people who don’t even really like each other. 

“I hate it,” she laughs, and he gets the twisted feeling that she hasn’t had this much fun in a while, “I think you’re a douche.  But you don’t complain about wearing a condom like those stupid little skits we had to do in health class.  And you’re Snotlout, so it’s not like your laundry list of sexual partners is even all that long—”

“Longer than yours!”

“Oh my god, so it’s two people, big deal,” she rolls her eyes and pulls on her sports bra, wiggling to get it down around her ribs.  “Right.  Three, whatever.” 

He didn’t know that.  That he was number two.  He could have guessed it but that feels more strange than any of this because well…gross, but just in a stupid way.  And it’s not like he likes her or like they’re dating or like he’s crossing some bro-line that would only really exist if Hiccup had talked to him since he moved. 

Which he shouldn’t be pissed about but he still kind of is.  He thought they were past that stupid rivalry or whatever, and maybe that they could act like cousins, but apparently not.  It’s out of sight out of mind, like it usually is with Hiccup. 

“It’s seven and a half, thank you very much.” 

She wrinkles her nose, “and you got tested with your pre-season physical, right?” 

“I’m not _diseased_ —”

“Ok, but did you get tested?” 

“Yes, but how do you know I haven’t slept with a bunch of people since then?” 

“Because I saw you trying.  Seven and a half is already probably bluffing, not that I even want to know what ‘half’ means—”

“Pretty sure you know what it means.” 

“I don’t have to act like you’re not gross, because I don’t like you and I don’t have to like you.” 

He wants to say something about how she doesn’t seem so grossed out when she has sex with him multiple times on purpose, but it’s starting to hit him how miraculous this arrangement is. 

“And I can still sleep with whoever I want, and you can’t care.  And I don’t have to buy you dinner or meet your mother—”

“You already know my mother.” 

“But not officially, and I don’t have to.” 

It’s weird having her here.  It’s weird seeing her naked and rumpled and getting dressed like this isn’t a big deal. 

But she’s right, in a really weird way, actually having sex isn’t weird.  And it should be, they grew up together, she was there when he kissed Tuffnut on the playground when they were eight and she punched someone for saying something rude about it.  But did he think of scrappy tomboy eight year old Astrid who climbed trees and jumped the creek on her bike when even Dagur couldn’t do it?  No, she was just…a really hot girl willing to have sex with him and not expecting much and maybe it’s because they aren’t really friends that he can draw that line but maybe this has a chance at sort of working.  At least until he gets less busy and has more time to do who he actually wants to. 

Once she finally gets all her clothes and leaves, his life goes back to normal until she texts him again the next day and they schedule it like a dentist appointment or something, and it doesn’t take any time at all for it to become a thing.  It’s half clothed in her room in a fifteen minute break between classes, her loft frame creaking ominously until he insists they finish on her desk.  It’s homework breaks and blowing off pre-game jitters in the locker room after practice on Thursday.  It’s always quiet and quick and more like a fist fight with more endorphins than bruises than typical sex. 

And it’s strange how after a few times, it starts not seeming like sex with a girl, but sex with _Astrid_ , who has her own obvious preferences and dislikes that he starts to get familiar with.  And she makes it easier still by just asking for what she wants and not caring about his feelings, which actually doesn’t hurt so bad when he makes her fall apart with one of those hard won moans a second later.  Honestly, a lot of stupid events in high school could have gone a lot better if they could have disappeared for meaningless sex every couple of hours because miraculously it’s something they seem to largely agree on. 


	6. Chapter 6

Facts about Snotlout:

  1. He’s a firm believer that everything can be a competition
  2. He can be almost disconcertingly serious for someone who should be enjoying himself
  3. He sleeps until ten and not even the promise of sex can wake him up
  4. He needs to bring up his D in math to play next week
  5. He’s too smart to have a D in math



 

“Who is it?”  Ruffnut asks from across the room and when Astrid looks up, she’s being stared down by a surprisingly intimidating eagle eye. 

It’s been a week keeping a secret from Ruffnut and that’s apparently long enough that it doesn’t feel so strange anymore. 

“What are you talking about?” 

“You’re all calm, and you left practice early yesterday so I know it’s not just exhaustion.  That leaves drugs or boys and I found a condom wrapper in your trash while I was snooping.” 

“You were snooping?”  Astrid raises an eyebrow and Ruffnut rolls her eyes. 

“Because you’re so creepy calm.  I’m worried.” 

“It’s no one, and it’s also not too late to request a single room so stay out of my trash.”

“You know, not telling me is only making me more curious.” 

“It’s none of your business.” 

“Is it a professor?  A coach?  Oooh, it’s a coach, isn’t it?”  Ruffnut starts drumming her fingers on her knee like she’s trying to speed up her thinking. 

“It’s not illegal,” Astrid gives Ruffnut a pointed look, “and you can drop it anytime.” 

Her phone buzzes, it’s probably Snotlout even though he said he had homework to do tonight, but that’s the beauty of not being his girlfriend.  She has no obligation to encourage him because she doesn’t care if he fails math. 

“So you weren’t using the condom to smuggle drugs either?  That was my next guess.” 

“I just said it’s not illegal.”  She picks up her phone and sure enough there are two texts from Snotlout and he still hasn’t found his phone’s punctuation. 

Snotlout (4:31pm): fuck it I’m going to fail anyway  
Snotlout (4:33pm): wanna come over

Astrid (4:35pm): You could try actually studying, maybe then you wouldn’t fail

“That makes it sound like an ongoing thing, are you texting them now?”  Ruffnut tries to grab Astrid’s phone but she dodges. 

“It’s just Snotlout, he’s whining about failing some test.”  If she doesn’t lie, Ruffnut can’t catch her lying, right? 

Even if the lie is a really weird lie that she and Snotlout have had sex like, five times now and it hasn’t been all that weird.  She’s seen Snotlout naked and it’s weirder to think about than it is to actually see, which doesn’t make sense but she’s not complaining.  And now that they’ve had sex, he does things like complain about school to her, like they couldn’t ever manage to act like friends until after they complicated a non-existent friendship.  But it’s kind of nice because it feels so normal. 

For a long time, even small decisions had all that emotional heft behind them and this is the exact opposite.  Her biggest decisions are the ones she’s thinking about the least. 

“Lucky you, he’s been leaving me alone lately,” Ruffnut wrinkles her nose, “it’s been suspiciously quiet.” 

“Hmm.” 

Snotlout (4:36pm): I give up I don’t even know what I don’t know

Astrid (4:36pm): That’s impossible, you have to know something, most of this is still review from high school

Snotlout (4:37pm): like I remember any of that shit

Astrid (4:38pm): Oh my god, it’s literally impossible for you to remember nothing   
Astrid (4:38pm): You’re just being dramatic

Snotlout (4:39pm): wanna bet

Astrid (4:39pm): No, I don’t want to bet, I want you to admit you’re being an idiot  
               Astrid (4:40pm): I’m on my way

There’s a weird thrill of doing something sort of wrong when Astrid checks her backpack for her calculus notebook and stands up.  They aren’t dating, they don’t even appear to like each other because they sure can’t talk for five minutes without getting at each other’s throats but they’re inevitably about to have sex.  Again.  Even though they aren’t dating and don’t want to. 

 “I’m going to go help him study,” she says, hoping to sound normal and being almost surprised when she does.  She almost wants to add that she’s going to go have sex with him, because it would read like a joke and maybe it is kind of a joke, except it’s really going to happen.  “It’s good karma to keep a fellow student athlete off academic probation, right?” 

“Does he know who you’re banging?  Are you using him to cover for you while you ditch me for hot, sweaty, apparently safe sex?” 

“Right, he’s the perfect cover, no matter how many times you ask him I’m sure he’d just insist it was him.”  

Ruffnut frowns, “fuck, that’s true.” 

“I’ll see you later.” 

To his credit, Snotlout’s dorm does actually look like he’s been trying to study.  There are papers spread out and highlighted all over his bed and desk and his open calculus book is propped in front of his laptop screen.  But instead of reading it, he’s just sitting in his desk chair, spinning his pencil around his thumb and tapping his foot. 

“What have you actually gotten done?” 

“I found all my notes,” he waves around the room, “and I read them, and I highlighted stuff.  I still don’t get any of it but it’s highlighted.”  He looks her up and down like he’s vaguely wondering why she’s still clothed and that makes her mad because no, it doesn’t really matter to her if he fails but also she’s not someone he can call to help him procrastinate when he sucks at it on his own. 

“Have you even looked at the review worksheet?” 

He shrugs, “I found it and put it with the review notes from class.” 

“But you didn’t do any of the problems?”  She pulls the wrinkled sheet of paper from a stack with yesterday’s date on it and wrinkles her nose at the mysterious brown stains around the rumpled edges.  Like he spilled coffee or something coffee colored and far more ominous on it.  “At least try it.” 

“Like I said, I don’t know what any of those words mean, and I already said fuck it so…” He nods, eyebrows raised like it means ‘sex time’ in douche sign language. 

“I bet you do know what these words mean, I bet you can do all these problems and you’re just not trying.” 

“I totally tried!”  He waves around the room, “I _highlighted_ my notes.  In multiple colors!  I had to steal highlighters from your backpack when you weren’t looking, I basically risked my life.” 

“You took my highlighters.” 

“No one I know has freaking highlighters, where else was I supposed to get them?” 

“I don’t know, the store?  Where they’re like three dollars?”  She shakes her head and holds the review sheet towards him, “if you haven’t even tried any of these, you aren’t actually trying.” 

“I don’t know _how_ ,” he whines. 

It’s infuriating.  It’s stupid.  He’s smarter than this, she knows he’s smarter than this.  He’s spent too much time pissing her off too intentionally to be stupid.  And it’s not her problem if he passes, but goddammit if she’s going to have sex with him while he’s being this limp.  This arrangement isn’t predicated on him turning her on, but he does have to not actively turn her off by being lame. 

“I will take off one item of clothing for every problem you get right,” she sets the sheet on his desk and takes the three highlighters from the pencil cup next to his computer. “And you take off an item of clothing for every one you get wrong.” 

“That’s not fair,” he frowns, “you’re wearing like shoes and shit.” 

She kicks off her shoes and puts her socks in them, “there, now it’s fair.” 

“Still doesn’t seem fair.” 

“So you’re chicken—”

“Hey, let’s keep this civil,” he points at himself, “I am the furthest thing from chicken.  I just think it’s a rip off that you’re making me do math homework when this was supposed to be no strings attached.” 

“Ok, it’s one string attached now, you have to not disgust me as a person by being pathetic and not trying.”  She stacks a couple of his note piles on top of each other and sits on the foot of his bed.  “And you have to not be a chicken.” 

“I’m not a chicken!”  He picks up his pencil, “and fine, whatever, but once you’re naked way before me, you have to stay naked.” 

“Fine.  Do number one.” 

“God, you’re so _bossy_ ,” he glares at her one last time before picking up his pencil and starting to write.  “How will you know if I’m right?” 

“Because I did this last week and checked my answers with the TA,” she pulls out her notebook and flips to the page with the answers. 

“It’s like you’re a machine.”  He grumbles something else she can’t hear before his pencil is scratching along the page. 

She’s never liked that heavy-gut feeling of doing something wrong before now.  And she wouldn’t say she even likes it now, it’s just different.  Because she knows she’s not, she’s single and an adult and on birth control and it’s not like he’s a stranger who could turn out to be a murderer or something.  But it still feels…dangerous, somehow.  Like playing with fire, it’s still thrilling even if she knows she’s not going to catch anything with it. 

Plus, something about being so practical feels good.  After getting jerked around by feelings and circumstance, this feels so unbelievably controlled.  She has needs, she’s getting her needs fulfilled in a capacity she chose with no complications. 

“Number one is seven,” he announces after a couple minutes of silence and she checks it against her answer.

“That is correct,” she sets her notebook aside and pulls her shirt over her head.  It feels silly, because this isn’t the kind of thing people make games out of and because Snotlout’s staring at her like it’s a performance.  And her bra is ugly and that doesn’t matter because they aren’t dating so she doesn’t have to give a shit what he thinks.  “I thought you didn’t know how to do any of them.” 

“It was the first one, it’s probably the easiest.” 

“I can’t believe you’re arguing that you’re going to force me to keep my clothes on my body,” she rolls her eyes, “just keep going.” 

“When I’m naked then you’ll be sorry,” he narrows his eyes and pauses, “wait—that’s not what I meant—”

“But it’s what you said.”  She pulls another book out of her backpack, the one she’s technically caught up on but not finished with yet and opens it to her bookmark.  “Talk to me after number two.” 

He writes for a couple moments before looking up again, “do you care if I turn on some music?” 

“Why would I care?” 

“Because you’re reading.”  He shrugs.  It’s almost considerate.  That makes it feel weird that she’s shirtless and she adjusts her bra strap, leaning back against the wall beside his bed. 

“Go for it.” 

Another minute or so passes before he triumphantly circles something and looks up at her. 

“Number two is x plus seven.” 

“Nope,” she glances at her notebook, “not even close.” 

“Really?  I thought I had that one.” 

“Shirt,” she watches him because he watched her and he wads the fabric into a ball and throws it at her once it’s off.  She catches it and drops it on the floor with hers and he turns back to his desk, erasing and muttering something about trying again. 

“I did it again and still got x plus seven.” 

“Then I don’t know what to tell you.” 

“Let me see yours,” he holds out his hand and she shakes her head. 

“No, you’ll cheat, I’ll check yours.” 

“Fine.”  He hands her his work and she holds it up next to hers.  She frowns. 

“Sorry, that is right, I was looking at my number three.”  She hands him his notebook back and he shakes his head. 

“You owe me clothes, that’s cheating.” 

“I looked at the wrong number, stop making such a big deal out of it.” 

“Nope, I think you should have to take off two items of clothing because you cheated while accusing me of trying to cheat, that’s a double offense and as an originator of strip studying—”

“You aren’t an originator, I invented this game,” Astrid sets her book down and crosses her arms, “you’re just the first person to play it.” 

“Two items of clothing is fair.”  He looks at her again, eyes catching in that predictable pattern like he’s cataloging her.  She kind of likes the way he looks at her, honestly, there’s a no nonsense kind of hunger to it, like everything is exactly as he expected it but he appreciates it anyway.  It’s practical too. 

“You get your shirt back and one item,” she bargains, tossing the shirt at him.  He rolls his eyes and slings it over one shoulder instead of putting it on. 

“Fine, but I get to pick the item.” 

“No!”  She says at the same instant as he says ‘bra.’

She stands up and unbuttons her pants anyway, glaring at him as she shoves them down her legs.  She trips trying to step out of them and he laughs.  She flips him off and he laughs harder. 

“Sorry, I’ve just never been angry stripped at before.” 

“That actually shocks me,” she huffs and sits back down, picking her book back up.  He looks at her a second longer and adjusts his seat before getting back to writing.  She glances at him, eyes flicking to the bulge in his sweatpants. 

It shouldn’t make her feel smug but it does.  She looks up slightly, at the side of his face, the line of his arm flexing slightly as he writes with entirely too much force.  She remembers him pudgier, and maybe he just looks pudgier in the old basketball shorts and stretched out tee-shirts she remembers, but he’s really more stocky than anything, like any exercise he does makes him bigger instead of smaller.  His back is smooth but muscles emerge when he stretches his arms over his head.  He’s grinning at her. 

She rolls her eyes. 

“Like what you see?” 

“I don’t have to.”

“But you do anyway,” he flexes an arm, “it’s only natural, don’t be embarrassed.” 

“I was just looking at that giant, pulsating growth on your back, have you seen a doctor about that?” 

“What?”  He tries to look over his shoulder and pats his lower back with his hands, accidentally stabbing himself in the side with his pencil, “ouch, fuck you, there’s nothing back there.”  He frowns, “don’t scare me like that.” 

“If you don’t pick up the pace I’m going to have to leave before I even get naked,” she turns back to her book and he starts writing again. 

“Big plans?” 

“Sleep, I have a seven am practice tomorrow.”  She checks the time on her phone and it’s barely after five, but she’s seen glaciers do math faster. 

“Ouch.  Number 3 is 8.” 

“Nope.  Number 3 is 4.”  She double checks before he can even ask her to, “did you remember to divide by two to only look at half the graph?” 

“Fuck.”  He wads up his shirt and throws it on the floor again.  “I told you I don’t know how to do any of this.” 

“What are you talking about?  You got the first two right.” 

“Yeah and I got the third one _wrong_ ,” he sighs, “and I’m not wearing any underwear.” 

She snorts.  Then he looks really offended and it escalates into a full blown laugh.  He looks even more offended and she gets what was so funny about angry stripping. 

“You should have thought of that before you started playing a strip game with somebody.” 

“I said it wasn’t fair.”  He shrugs.  The corner of his mouth twitches when she keeps laughing. 

“Well, you better get the rest of them right.  Or at least the next two.”  She gestures at her bra and underwear and he glances over at her like he’s building his resolve. 

He gets number 4 right.  She takes off her bra.  He gets number five wrong because he can’t stop glancing over at her.  It’s as irritating as it is flattering and she’s only read about five pages since she got here. 

She doesn’t remember the last time she just…was naked.  Like not for a purpose, not to get in the shower or have sex or change clothes.  It feels silly and stupid and even sillier because there’s someone else naked here too and there’s not any pressure to the situation. 

“What are the rules if I want to ask you a question?”  He asks her chest instead of her face when he’s working on the sixth problem and she crosses her arms.  He looks up at her. 

She looks down at his dick because it’s right _there_ and somehow she doesn’t know what to do with that information. 

“My eyes are up here,” he clears his throat and she rolls her eyes. 

“Depends on the question.  Like you can’t ask ‘what is the answer?’, obviously.” 

“What do I do to take the derivative of a natural log?”  He taps his pencil on his knee like it’s not going to draw her eyes right back to his dick and she looks back at her book. 

“Isn’t that in your notes?” 

“Right, like I’m going to write down everything they say.” 

“What else would you do in class?” 

He shrugs, “daydream about the time I was so good at math that you had to sit naked in a cold room and I got to be there too.” 

“It’s cold in here?”  She looks at his dick on purpose this time and jokingly frowns, “oh, I guess it is.” 

“Hey,” he covers himself with his hand and she laughs.  He laughs too.  “It’s one of those ones we’re supposed to memorize or whatever, right?” 

“Yeah,” she sighs, “but if I tell you I don’t have to take off an item of clothing this round.” 

“You can’t keep making new rules just because you’re about to lose,” he starts flipping through the stack of notes nearest him. 

“You’re already naked, you already lost, which means definitionally, I already won.” 

“How did I forget how stupid competitive you are?”  He huffs, glancing up at her face before pointing to one of the stacks of paper beside her.  “I think it’s in one of those piles. If I ask you to look are you going to magically grow a parka?” 

“I would if I could,” she starts flipping through pages, handing him one with a partial list of special cases, “I bet it’s here.” 

“Aha!”  He grabs the page and starts writing furiously, “I’ve got you this time, Hofferson.”  

“Yes, through your cunning alone and not my suggestion, you got me almost naked.” 

He laughs like what she said was funny.  Which, yeah, she guesses it kind of was, but since when has Snotlout laughed instead of trying to one up her?  Since they hung out naked, apparently. 

“Number six is fifteen x,” he flicks the paper emphatically and she nods, double checking her own work before standing and pushing her underwear down. 

They both kind of pause, because they’re both naked and at least Astrid feels something like a building expectation in her stomach.  She looks him up and down again.  She flicks her underwear at him with her toe.  He tries to catch them and misses and they fly over his shoulder. 

“What now?”  He starts spinning his pencil around his thumb again.  He must be pretty confident he’s not going to drop it. 

“There are only like two more problems,” she shrugs, sitting back down on the edge of the bed and resisting the urge to pull a blanket over her lap.  She’s not shy, exactly, it’s not embarrassment it’s just strange to exist naked like this with someone else. 

Her eyes flick to his crotch again and she wonders if he’s going to bring up the stupid blue balls argument again because it really is starting to look kind of purple. 

“Yeah, but I already studied like, six hundred percent more than I was intending to, I think that deserves a break.” 

“Maybe you could raise that to eight hundred percent if you put some of your blood back in your head.” 

“You’re _naked_ ,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Let me finish this chapter,” she counts the few pages and bookmarks the next chapter with her finger.  And she doesn’t know why, but that’s kind of hot.  It’s delayed gratification in its purest form, it’s everything practical about this arrangement. 

She glances at him again.  He’s looking at her.  They’re naked. 

She reads a page.  It looks like he’s folding a paper airplane.  He tries to throw it and it immediately nosedives.  He looks at her and bites his lip.  She almost tells him to come over while she’s still reading because…well, because it feels wrong in that silly little way that’s growing on her.  To just…keep reading her book while he tries to get a reaction out of her.  She crosses her legs. 

“Astrid, guess what?” 

“What?”  She looks at him, almost dropping the book entirely. 

“We’re naked.”  He says like he just discovered it and she thinks she’s going to say something mean but she laughs, because it’s easier and because it’s sort of funny. 

Because they are naked.  And it’s hot and weird and so casual where everything else they’ve done has been like sex themed arm wrestling or something. 

“No shit.”  She glances at her book then back at him and fuck it, she’s not getting anything done with his dick staring at her like that, “did you notice that we’re naked?” 

“No way,” he smiles.  They both laugh.  She shoves her bookmark back into the book and drops it.  Close enough. 


	7. Chapter 7

Facts about Astrid:

  1. She actually does know how to make sounds during sex, most of them start with laughing at him but that’s kind of hot too
  2. She can turn a lot of boring homework into stripping games
  3. She hangs out naked like it’s not even weird
  4. Her hair gets everywhere and sticks to vertical surfaces and it’s honestly amazing there’s any left on her head with how much she sheds
  5. She tends to believe in people, even if it’s believing they’re way better liars than they are



 

Being around Astrid, even platonically, even naked and platonically, might have made Snotlout a bit of a rule following wuss.  It’s not the first time he and Tuff have used Gruffnut’s ID to get in somewhere and it’s not even the first time Ruffnut has come along, but it is the first time Astrid’s followed them in, looking nervous and guilty and stubborn as Tuffnut stamps her hand with the felt stamp he stole from the stand in the front of the bar before letting them in the back.  Astrid has the kind of guilty face like she’s never done anything wrong in her life, which maybe she hasn’t, and Snotlout touches her elbow, steering her towards the shortest bar line to get her a drink before she gives them away. 

“Should you be _touching_ me in public?”  She slides her arm out of his loose grip, standing slightly behind him and looking around like someone’s looking for her.  Which like, bouncers are going to be if she doesn’t put that face away.  “Doesn’t exactly portray our status of friends who barely tolerate each other and have never had sex.”

“It was a special circumstance, if you don’t drink enough to put that nervous face away we’re going to get caught.” 

“If it’s that easy to get caught, why are we doing this?”  She leans her arm on his shoulder and hisses in his ear and now he’s the one looking around for Ruff and Tuff because well…he doesn’t particularly want to spend tonight getting lectured or slapped. 

“You’re literally cuddling me in line at a bar.” 

“I’m not,” she stands up and brushes something off of his shoulder, like that’s not worse. 

“You kind of were.” 

She scoffs and takes a step back, “we’ve literally _never_ cuddled.” 

Snotlout steps up to the bar and orders the two dollar pint special they risked getting caught for and hands the bartender his card.  The guy frowns and looks at the total, and Snotlout shows the stamp on the back of his hand a little more prominently. 

“There’s a two fifty minimum on card charges, do you want to start a tab?” 

“No,” Snotlout has to stop himself from reflexively reaching for his card because when—not if, when—Astrid gives them away and they have to get out of here quickly, the last thing he needs is to leave his card behind. 

“I said we should stop for cash,” Astrid chews on her pinky nail, less nervous and more bemused now that he’s the one nervous and he points at her. 

“Fine, I’ll get hers too.” 

“Two?”  The bartender asks, turning away before Astrid can say anything. 

“I wanted the cider,” she leans against the bar beside him, apparently not even purposefully crowding him, just accidentally jostling their hips together. 

“You can get it when you buy the next round,” he says as they get their beers and his card.  She takes a sip and looks like she’s only grudgingly enjoying it.   

“It’s two dollars,” she rolls her eyes and walks towards an empty table in the back corner while waving at Ruffnut, who’s still in the longer, worse choice of line. 

“Yeah, but if I bought you a beer,” he sits down and she sits next to him instead of across from him and that feels weird like things haven’t lately, “that’s either a dating thing or like…me paying for earlier with cheap beer, like you’re a prostitute.” 

And she doesn’t even seem to know that she’s sitting so close to him he can feel her arm twitching when she raises her beer to take another drink.  And they’ve spent too much time together because it’s making him think of watching tv earlier in Astrid’s old beanbag chair, still naked, kind of cuddling even though they’d both deny it.  And even though they were ignoring each other it was also understood that it was some kind of not affectionate foreplay.  And they’re in public, and Ruffnut keeps looking over here and Astrid just doesn’t take up that much space in a booth so what is she doing? 

Probably something evil, to him, on purpose. 

She raises an eyebrow, “I’m worth more than a two dollar beer.” 

“Not if you don’t get the next round.” 

“I’ll make it up to you,” she scoffs, scooting a couple of finally reasonable inches away as Ruff and Tuff walk over and sit down across from them.  And of course Snotlout is stuck with Ruffnut, staring newly psycho-babble armed daggers at him beneath furrowed eyebrows. 

It’s been a rough couple of years for Snotlout’s love life.  First Astrid wasn’t what he thought she was, and if he’s completely honest with himself, what Astrid started to lack is what made him notice Ruffnut.  But it’s a completely different brand of crazy, restraining order, bury people alive while drunk and spewing super smart sounding psychologist words that make him feel like he’s actually the crazy one until he takes a step back crazy.    

And yeah like, after that landmark, oddly giggly afternoon, his math book kind of gets him going a little bit, but he also hasn’t been to court in the last year so…

“Tell me, Snotlout, do you know anything about the secret boyfriend Astrid obviously has?”  She taps her foot against his under the table like she’s threatening that she could do it harder and Astrid is still sipping that beer he paid for and he shrugs.  Sweat tickles behind his ear. 

“Astrid has a secret boyfriend?”  Tuffnut asks, “I thought she was dating Hiccup.  Is he secret because we can’t see him?” 

“No, idiot, they broke up, keep up with the ever changing Astrid drama—”

“Please, no one keep up with my drama—”

“—Hiccup dumped her and moved and now she has a secret boyfriend because she’s all calm and happy and she’s not on downers, so—”

“I could just be over it,” Astrid looks at her lap, and Snotlout hates how his arm itches to wrap around her because it doesn’t understand that people are looking and it’s not _allowed_.  Because apparently once two not really friends say they can be physical it’s going to feel normal and he knows if he reached around her and pinched that ticklish place under her ribs she’d laugh and shove him off and it’d be _better_ than seeing an edge of irritating, quiet, lying Astrid return. 

But he can’t.  And Ruffnut is still staring at him. 

“But really, Lout, is she using you to cover for her or something?  You two look pretty chummy over there.” 

“Maybe I took up yoga,” Astrid snaps, and there’s that sharpness in her voice that’s such a big relief, even though it’s strange that it’s almost protecting him.  While she’s drinking something he bought her and that isn’t part of this arrangement. 

“Right, in all your free time,” Ruffnut scoffs, “you’re always _out_ lately, with your secret boyfriend, but if it were school like you always say to make me stop asking, you wouldn’t have time for yoga.” 

“Maybe I’m out doing secret yoga.” 

“Hmph,” Ruffnut reaches across the table and grabs Astrid’s drink to take a sip, “never mind, ugh, I was hoping you got the cider.” 

And that’s what it’d be like if everyone knew.  Ruffnut just…taking Astrid’s drink even if he bought it except they’d all be teasing him more about that and...and that isn’t even an option.  Why’s he thinking about it?  It’s not a thing, they have a dumb, secret thing that’s getting kind of oddly fun lately and just because he’s a little sick of sneaking around doesn’t mean it could exist any other way. 

Because if their friends knew they were fucking, they’d be real dicks about it. 


	8. Chapter 8

Facts about Snotlout:

  1. He doesn’t care if people eat in his bed, in his car yes, in his bed no
  2. He gets really mad if you pay him a bag of uninflated dollar store balloons that say ‘happy birthday Catelyn’ in exchange for sex
  3. He gets even madder if you pay him for sex with a Tom Brady Pez dispenser and three packages of lemon Pez but that also makes him laugh, eventually, after a few minutes of angry sex
  4. Angry sex isn’t exactly a good thing in a relationship, but if you aren’t worried about a relationship, he’s good at angry sex
  5. He didn’t invent the strip math game he’s probably going to teach every girlfriend ever because he’s obsessed with it, Astrid Hofferson invented it and she manages the official rulebook



 

They have sex after the semi-disastrous bar _thing_.  Hangout.  Whatever.  And maybe they’ve been spending too much time together because it was sort of weird to be somewhere crowded with him and they shouldn’t have such a bubble because they don’t even _like_ each other, but when all Astrid could hear was _Hiccup dumped her_ , he made that disappear. 

Yeah, it was by whining the entirety of Sharknado and not admitting that he chose to watch it when he obviously did because she purposefully didn’t talk to him for like ten minutes after sex because he bragged about finishing second that time.  But she didn’t think about Hiccup.  She didn’t think about anything but the fact that Snotlout is annoying and too warm and overall really needy for the blankets and he shouldn’t need any blankets because he’s that freakishly warm. 

And then he has a big math project due, and when she shows up he’s wearing a parka and socks over his shoes and she loses in three turns but the funniest part is watching him twenty turns away from getting anywhere, fidgeting in his three pairs of boxers and running out of work so they have to compromise on paragraphs of math book reading. 

Then she catches him making pancakes in the dorm kitchen, because he overslept breakfast and apparently knows how to make pancakes, and it’s good she got him to laugh about the Tom Brady Pez dispenser the night before because he shared and also had the dorm kitchen booked for the next hour and both their roommates were home.  And butter isn’t sexy and he should have known that and that particular bruise on her shin is his fault in its entirety. 

And somehow it feels normal when he asks her to help him study for some history test that she doesn’t have, and she picks up a pack of highlighters at the bookstore, because she knows he doesn’t have any and because three dollars is about the going rate for pissing him off.  And it’s normal when he’s happy to see her and surrounded by papers and notebooks and a barely opened book. 

“How did you pass high school?”  She picks up the review notes on his desk and he flops onto the bed, sending pieces of paper floating to the floor. 

“I don’t know, with a two point seven grade point average and about fifty times my dad convinced teachers to pass me so I could play.” 

Great, he’s honest tired.  The kind of tired he gets with a couple of three in the morning nights in a row and she sighs, sitting down in his desk chair. 

“This is a shitty school,” she sets down his notes and picks up his book.  “I tested out of this with AP history, I have no idea.” 

“But you could get naked, or something,” he mumbles into the pillow, “I’m trying.” 

“Does me getting naked actually help you study?” 

“I have a B in math now,” he groans, loud, pained, “a B- but still, a D to a B- is something.” 

“That’s awesome though.”  She flips through the book and the binding crackles when she opens it, “have you ever even opened this book?” 

“I got lucky on the first test,” he almost has a normal amount of shame, “I binge listened to Hamilton and got a D.”

“That’s lucky?” 

“Considering it was on America from Columbus to the 1820’s, I got lucky.”  He rolls over and stares at the ceiling and she drums her fingers on the covers of his book.  “College is hard.” 

“That’s because you don’t try until the day before something is due.” 

“Because I don’t have time!  And when I do there are better things to do, like extra practice and _you_ —”

“Hey,” she throws a wadded up piece of paper from his desk and it bounces off his head, “don’t blame me for this.” 

“Ok, I’ll just resent you for being a genius and upholding a rigorous sex schedule us mere mortals can’t work in with our homework.” 

“You’re trying to insult me by saying I have sex with you too much while being too smart, you’re losing your edge.”  She sets the book down on his desk and rests her chin in her hand, “and I’m not a genius, I just try before the last minute.” 

“Yeah, maybe I’d buy that if you weren’t supposed to be like what, two hours away at the Genius School for Geniuses.” 

“But I’m not there and that’s all that counts,” she crumples up another piece of paper and throws that at him too, and it bounces off his knee onto the ground. 

“Throw one more thing at me, I dare you.” 

“Don’t dare me, you’re just avoiding studying,” she balls another piece anyway, tossing it between her hands, “I could give you an advance on today’s payment, that might help.”  She pulls the package of highlighters out of her bag and tosses them at him so that they land on his stomach. He picks them up and frowns. 

“No, you’re not my _John_ ,” he sits up, holding them out to her with an unusually stern expression, like he’s downright disappointed that he has to teach her something so obvious, “and you can’t trade office supplies for dick.” 

She laughs, “but Tom Brady Pez dispensers—”

He picks up a sheet of notes and throws it at her but it floats uselessly back to the bed and wow, he’s not going to get any studying done with her here.  Not that he’d be studying if she were somewhere else, but at least then she wouldn’t be an accomplice. 

“I’m surprised I still let you in this room.” 

“I’m not,” she dares him to break eye contact, unzipping her hoodie a couple of inches and laughing when he looks down at her and turns that flustered, furious red.  “But I’ll stop compensating you, I guess, if you really hate it that much—”

“I do.”  He’s still trying to give her the pack of highlighters and she shrugs. 

“Keep those, but only because I don’t want you stealing mine again.”  She picks his book back up and starts flipping through it, “it’s not a present it’s an anti-theft measure.” 

“I think the test is over chapters like, eight through eleven?  Something like that,” he fidgets and more notes fall off the bed.  He swears but doesn’t move to pick them up and she doesn’t either, because that feels like some helping line she’s not supposed to want to cross.  In fact, if she’s going to be here, she should probably get less clothed before this gets weird. 

Because they aren’t people who do homework and hang out with friends together.  They probably shouldn’t even go outside together, honestly, unless it’s to have sex under the football bleachers or something else idiotic that she’d only ever ask of him.  Because if he said no and that she was crazy, it wouldn’t hurt, because his opinion doesn’t matter because that’s not what this is. 

“I could still drop the class,” he shrugs like it doesn’t bother him but she can see that it does and it bugs her that he’s trying to lie to her, because he doesn’t have to and that’s the whole point. 

“You’re smarter than this, Snotlout,” she doesn’t sound as supportive as she wants to.  It’s angrier, more impatient, like she’s forgetting what supportive feels like the longer that Hiccup is gone.  “I’ve spent an embarrassing amount of time with you lately and you’re smarter than scraping D’s in American History 103.” 

“I see how you’d think that, given you’re so familiar with my _physical_ intelligence, but—”

“You’re annoying.  And you’re braggy and you can be really lazy, but you aren’t stupid.”  She hands him the book and fiddles with the strap of her bag because she should leave, because this is weird and she’s not here to give him a frankly shitty pep talk where the entire time she sounds like she wants to hit him, which she does, but she doesn’t have to sound like it, “so…try.” 

“But if I try and I still fuck up, then I just fucked up,” he opens the book anyway, “with Hiccup gone there’s not even anyone left to pin it on.” 

It’s one of those statements that digs in and twists and she hates that she’s still sensitive to it, that weeks of avoiding it and being stupid and busy haven’t lessened that bone deep twinge.  She could never pin it on Hiccup, he’s Teflon, he has been almost as long as she’s really known him.  Knew him. 

Snotlout knew him as a fuck-up kid, maybe, but Astrid only really got to know him after he was devastatingly, rightfully untouchable.  Everything she did wrong was because of him, but none of it was his fault, it was all just her being stupid and young and thinking everyone held onto things like she does.  Did. 

Maybe that’s finally changed, she’s been plenty close to Snotlout plenty of times but her toxic death grip has yet to make a reappearance. 

“Sometimes people just fuck up,” she shrugs, standing up and swinging her bag over her shoulder.  “I should go and let you study.” 

He says something about incentive but she’s not really listening anymore, because things are feeling strange and real for the first time in a while. 


	9. Chapter 9

Facts about Astrid:

  1. She’s right a lot, but only when it means more work for someone else
  2. Her pep talks sound a little like threats sometimes
  3. She carries jokes on for way longer than they’re funny, if they’re even funny in the first place
  4. She’s kind of uncomfortably thoughtful sometimes, she’d probably be great at actual presents
  5. Mentioning Hiccup makes her quiet and almost unrecognizable in two syllables flat



 

Snotlout gets an 82 percent on his stupid, multiple choice history test and it’s all Astrid’s fault.  He almost doesn’t want to tell her, because no grade in the world is worth the end of naked homework, but it’s been a couple days since they’ve talked and somehow that’s a long time now.  He texts her, still sitting in front of his laptop and staring at the unlikely grade. 

Snotlout (12:42pm): its all your fault you rubbed your genius off onto me and now i have to be the smart one and the handsome one

Astrid (12:43pm): I’ll accept that when you find the comma key on your phone

Snotlout (12:44pm): You knew what I said, grammar-jerk

Astrid (12:44pm): Asshole  
Astrid (12:44pm): I’m assuming you got your history test back  
Astrid (12:45pm): I’m not a grammar-jerk

Snotlout (12:45pm): you are and youre also a bad influence because I studied and got an 82 and now I have to live with my academic potential  
Snotlout (12:46pm): you should come over and make up for emotional damages

Astrid (12:46pm): not bad, congrats  
Astrid (12:47pm): I thought you didn’t want any more compensation.  Also, I can’t, sorry

Snotlout (12:48pm): not bad? its like 3 points above average   
Snotlout (12:48pm): im above average

Astrid (12:48pm): I already knew that

Snotlout scratches his face as it turns red, because that’s not the kind of thing he’s used to hearing, especially from Astrid, who’s more likely to make fun of him than compliment him.  Even when she calls him smart she has to preface it with an insult.  _Honey and the hatchet_ , his ass, it’s _hatchet, hatchet, maybe some honey if you’re lucky_ , most of the time. 

Snotlout (12:49pm): why can’t you come over?

Astrid (12:49pm): None of your business?

Snotlout (12:50pm): im just wondering if its so you can torture me by saying shit like that

Astrid (12:50pm): Nah, nothing like that

The whole beauty of this arrangement, honestly, is that she tells him what she’s thinking, even when it’s mean, instead of playing stupid word games like he’s supposed to solve a code to see if she’s mad at him or not.  And he doesn’t think she is, because like, then she wouldn’t be sending him dirty compliments for no reason when they never even discussed if that was on the table. 

He kind of hopes it isn’t, because he’s already been having enough trouble focusing in calculus without her telling him she already knew he was above average. 

Astrid (12:52pm): honestly I’m going to be busy a few days

There’s a weird second there, where all he remembers is Ruffnut being so sure Astrid has a secret boyfriend, and he really thought that was talking about all the time she’s been spending with him but maybe she does have someone.  He’s not quite sure how that makes him feel, it’s a combination of general dread that this great thing he has going is going to end and stupidity for not planning for that sooner.  Of course this isn’t forever.  This probably isn’t even until next semester, because their schedules will change and she might meet some guy with a nasally voice and a limp and decide she wants someone to buy her beer without calling her a cheap hooker. 

Which still, funny, but also way more trouble than it’s worth. 

He takes the stupid Tom Brady Pez dispenser out of the bottom drawer of his desk and moves its stupid mouth.  Everyone knows lemon Pez are the worst too, they smell like lemon scented disinfecting wipes and taste like chalk.  And it’s one of those bad plastic moldings that’s detailed enough to be creepy and he should want to throw it away but it’s kind of funny in how awful it is. 

It’s the kind of thing Astrid’s stupid secret boyfriend probably gets all the time. 

Snotlout (12:54pm): have fun I guess

Astrid (12:55pm): Not that kind of busy, don’t feel left out or anything

Snotlout (12:55pm): I dont

Astrid (12:56pm): You’re so dramatic, I can feel you pouting through my phone  
Astrid (12:56pm): I’m on my period, for the record  
Astrid (12:57pm): it makes a little more sense now why I was so moody the other day haha

The other day when he brought up Hiccup. 

Snotlout (12:58pm): oh

That’s reasonable, he guesses, but it’s also anti-climactic both literally and figuratively because he was getting himself all worried about the inevitable end of what’s almost feeling like a friendship and now she has a valid reason to not see him for a week.  Basically. 

Astrid (12:59pm): You did know I was an adult woman, right?  And that this is something that happens to adult women

Snotlout (1:00pm): coming from the person who hadn’t conceptualized my balls? I was just hoping to make you listen about my dumb test since youre the one who made me study anyway you deserve it

Astrid (1:01pm): Oh

That isn’t a text he likes to see, that’s a little sad, especially since he was just thinking things like _almost friends_ and now he doesn’t want to bang her like, a single time and she’s going to be all weird about it.  Buddy is party of fuck _buddy_ , it’s literally in the name.  But maybe they’re just B-movie, naked homework, sex buddies, not talk about things buddies. 

But he still kind of thought they might be getting there or something. 

Astrid (1:03pm): Do you want to get ice cream or something?    
Astrid (1:03pm): I promise I’ll pay for my own and everything so you don’t spaz out

Snotlout (1:04pm): its october

Astrid (1:04pm): so?

Snotlout (1:05pm): meet you outside your dorm in 5

Snotlout has never really had a girlfriend or a close friend that was a girl, but he somehow expects Astrid to look different when she comes downstairs in the same gray sweatpants she wears for easy removal and her hair in a messy braid, but she just looks normal.  Tired maybe, but not like the raging hormone monsters guys like to make fun of. 

“I don’t spaz out,” he says as soon as she can hear him and she rolls her eyes, checking her pockets for her keys one last time before walking towards downtown instead of the cafeteria, like she really meant she was going to pay for ice cream instead of just getting free soft serve. 

“You called me a hooker because you bought me a two dollar beer, that’s the dictionary definition of spazzing out.”  She looks at him and raises her eyebrows, nodding slightly, “but right, I’m not here to make fun of you today, I’m here to hear about your totally real B on a history test that you actually studied for.” 

“Don’t make it sound so impossible,” he inflates under the backhanded praise, “I can study, if I feel like it.” 

“Which I knew you could,” she bumps her shoulder against his almost hard enough to push him off the sidewalk.

“So you just agreed to hang out with me to say ‘I told you so’, I get it.” 

“Yeah, pretty much.”  She laughs and he gives her a withering look that’s only half serious. 

It’s sort of weird, because it’s the first time in a few weeks that they’ve hung out without a near guarantee of sex, and that should feel different, but it doesn’t, not really.  She still argues with him about what the flashing hand on the crosswalk means, because she apparently doesn’t know it means _walk really fast_ and she thinks it means _don’t enter the crosswalk_ because she failed crossing guard in kindergarten, he guesses.  She still orders enough rocky road to kill someone her size and she still eats like he’s going to take it away from her which, honestly is a little welcome because it’s nice to know one person who has no place commenting on his table manners. 

“That girl’s checking you out,” Astrid comments about halfway into her last scoop, slowing down only slightly and prying a marshmallow from the side of the ice cream.  “Redhead, eight o’clock.  No, my eight o’clock, idiot.  There you go.” 

He looks over his shoulder and sees a girl he thinks he recognizes from a couple classes or maybe the cafeteria, and even though she isn’t looking at him, she’s also kind of pointedly _not_ looking at him which can mean the same thing. 

“Oh, yeah, I think she’s in my history class or something.” 

“You should go talk to her,” Astrid suggests, eyeing the rest of his cone even as her rocky road starts to melt a bit.  “I’ll take care of that for you.” 

“It’s ice cream, it’s portable, I’d take it with me.” 

“You should,” she shrugs, “she’s cute.  I’m honestly a little impressed—oh, yep, glaring at me, definitely interested.” 

“She’s probably glaring at you because you literally ordered all the ice cream in the entire store, there probably wasn’t any left.”  He looks over his shoulder again and the girl definitely looks away and quickly and she’s definitely cute.  “I think she’s in my history class, her name’s Courtney?  C-something, maybe it’s Catelyn and I can re-gift those birthday balloons.” 

“You said you threw those away,” Astrid smiles, and it’s happy and suspicious and familiar and he feels like Ruffnut is going to walk by any moment and ruin it.  “And those weren’t a gift, they were a payment.” 

“I kept them to woo future Catelyns with, how impressed would you be if you happened to be at my dorm on your birthday and I had balloons with your name on them?” 

“That is the creepiest plan I’ve ever heard,” she laughs, “there’s no way that would happen by accident, if I were Catelyn I’d conclude you’d been stalking me and go straight to the police with enough evidence for a restraining order.” 

“Did Ruffnut tell you how to do that?” 

They both laugh even though that’s not really funny, because it’s one of those messed up things no one is supposed to laugh at.  Court orders aren’t funny, badly re-enacted forensic shows aren’t funny, and those videos where toddlers clock people in the nuts aren’t funny. 

Ok, the last one is funny, but it’s decent to show a moment of solidarity first. 

But Astrid laughs anyway, shaking her head like she thinks it’s awful and like she’d hold it in in another situation, but she’s never tried to be decent or polite around him.  Which, like yes, she calls him an asshole a lot but there’s never that weird, bouncy-shouldered mask around her either.  Hell, she just told him they had to take a break from no strings attached fucking because she was on her period and that’s a level of vulgar honesty that he’s downright secure about. 

“She’s really looking at you, why aren’t you over there yet?”  She punches his shoulder hard enough to sting, “since when did you turn down an opportunity to show me how great your game is?  Ooh, me touching you really pissed her off, you have to go over there.” 

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m trying to be your wingman,” she shrugs, and there’s a weird sort of earnestness there that’s not at all the fake, polite, decent Astrid he used to hate pretending to get along with, “for real this time, I’m not going to tell her that your parents are siblings.” 

“That was so mean,” he shakes his head, “and not even creative, also—”

“What do you mean not creative?  Not creative would have been telling them that I grew up with you and you’re not rich at all.” 

“Like that guy would have believed _that_ , I had him right where I wanted him.” 

“So I guess you regret all this now, right?  I should just go and leave you to your true love, red-head who likes ice cream in October and not be your wingman at all—” She jokingly starts to get up, talking way too loud like she’s actually trying to embarrass him. 

“Sit down,” he reaches for her arm then changes his mind, because this feels like friends who aren’t going to have sex today and friends don’t touch each other that damn much, “I don’t need you to be my wingman, what do you even think that means?” 

“I was going to go over and talk you up,” she takes a big bite of ice cream that takes forever to swallow, like she wants to antagonize him with how long she’s taking to think.  “Like how even when you’re too quick in bed you make up for it—”

“That was like…six times, do you have to keep bringing it up?  Also, that is not being someone’s wingman—wingwoman, whatever—you have to actually try to get me a date.” 

“Ok, I’d tell her that you dumped me and I don’t know why, really, and I still have feelings for you but you’re not interested,” she stabs her ice cream with her spoon and it’s the first time he’s seen her be violent towards the ghost of Hiccup still drifting around, and that makes him a little happier than it should. 

Because even when this inevitably ends because or any of the million reasons it shouldn’t work in the first place, he’s kind of starting to hope they can still be friends.  And that can’t happen if Hiccup swoops back in and makes her…a side dish to whatever the Hiccup entrée is cooking that week.  Because she won’t be her anymore and he’ll miss her even more now that he knows her like he does. 

“That’s a start, but it makes me sound stupid, because like, you’re you.” 

“Fine,” she nods, and he can see her stop thinking of the reasons she used to be so bitter every second of the day, her eyes shifting back to competitive and slightly frightening, “I’d say you’re too sensitive and that you want to give too many back massages and orgasms and I just couldn’t live like that anymore.  But you said you wouldn’t change, because those things are what make you above average at history, and some lucky soul out there might need to study with you someday.” 

“Shut up,” he reaches across the table and takes a bite of her briefly unattended ice cream and she looks at him, shocked, before reaching for his.  She eats like, half his cone in one bite, and he somehow knew that was coming when she ordered a bowl like the bizarre person that she is, but it’s funny because of the face she makes when the bite she took is too big for her to chew.  “You have to keep it realistic.” 

“I know more about girls than you,” she nods, mouth still half full.  “I bet I could get you a date.” 

“Maybe sometime after you give me a better pitch.” 

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” she scrapes the last of her bowl and looks at it like she doesn’t know where it all went to. 

“I’m not begging, I’m in a great, no strings relationship where I don’t have to do that anymore.” 

“Big talk for someone doomed to a three day dry spell after weeks of monsoon season,” she stands up and throws away her bowl, looking purposefully at his cone, “are you and your portable snack staying here or…?” 

He could.  This is actually a wingman type move, removing herself from the situation so that he has a chance to focus on something else without her distracting him.  But as much as he’s going to regret this decision at the end of three days after honest weeks of the most regular sex he’s ever had, he’s kind of having fun.  Stupid fun, lame fun, because Astrid’s lame and her idea of adventure is eating ice cream in October, but it’s still fun. 

“When all the ice cream falls out on my shoes it’s your fault for biting a hole in the middle of my cone,” he follows her to the door and she looks almost happy about it, like she’s glad he didn’t stay. 

“What happened to your snack being so portable?” 

“Your big greedy mouth,” he elbows her in the side and she bats his arm away, and it feels so disconcertingly _normal_ that he doesn’t know why they aren’t better friends. 


	10. Chapter 10

Facts about Snotlout:

  1. He makes a weird little blowjob sound. He does not appear to be aware that he’s making it.  He does not like it if you think it’s funny. 
  2. He’s not squeamish about periods. It’s refreshing. 
  3. He’s awfully skittish about fucking in public for someone who seems to like it so much
  4. He tackles guys twice his size and ends up needing MRIs and rides from the hospital
  5. He’s still an idiot



 

“Stop taking care of me,” Snotlout throws a pillow at Astrid when she tries to straighten the blanket on his bed after dropping him home from the hospital.  His left arm is in a sling, and he’s high on something that kept him still while they relocated his shoulder, but his aim is still decent enough to smack her in the back of the thighs with a sloppy throw. 

There’s a bottle of pills on the desk and he’s got those unfocused, painkiller eyes.  It seems like the first time in a while that she’s thought of Hiccup.  Well, in the sick way, in the way he doesn’t want to be thought of, if he wants her to think of him at all. 

“You’re high, at least let me get you some water—”

“I have some,” he shakes a mostly full bottle at her, “I don’t need a nurse, that’s why they let me leave the hospital.” 

“You dotted the t’s in your signature with little hearts.” 

“The nurse at the front desk was _hot_.” 

“The nurse at the front desk was a sixty year old man with a Harley Davidson neck tattoo, you’re high.” 

“I thought he had a pony on his neck, huh.”  Snotlout sits down, swaying slightly and struggling with his shoelaces, “I still don’t need a nurse.  And I especially don’t need you to take care of me.” 

“You literally can’t take off your shoes.”  She kneels down to help him and he holds her away with a hand on her forehead.  She shoves it off and he tries to kick her when she reaches for his shoe again. 

“No arguing, you have to listen to me because I’m the one whose arm tried to get away today.” He’s trying to look stern but one of his eyebrows is twitching and he’s still swaying, like he keeps loosing track of gravity’s true direction.  “Two options, play video games or leave.  No nursing me.” 

“I’m just trying to help.”  She tries to adjust the strap of his sling where it’s folded slightly under itself over his shoulder.  He bats her hand away. 

“Try less,” he takes two stumbling steps to the milk crate acting as an entertainment center and hands her a video game controller.  “Play or go.” 

She feels like it’s fundamentally wrong to leave, because he’s fucked up and she saw how his shoulder was hanging earlier and someone should be here.  And he should let her help him, because she doesn’t mean anything by it.  And she knew he was stubborn, but god, this is bad and stupid and he’s going to fall down the stairs or something so even if she has to pretend she’s just playing video games, she really has to keep an eye on him.  It’s the right thing to do. 

She sits on the foot of the bed, toeing her shoes off and sifting through some game menu she’s never seen before.  She doesn’t play many video games, never has, they always take up too much time and too little energy. 

“I’ve never played this before.” 

“I have one hand, you can keep up,” he presses the wrong button and swears and she can’t help but look at that sling digging into the back of his neck. 

“Maybe you should just…lay down for a while and rest—”

“Nurse Astrid called for duty anywhere but my room—”

“I’m just trying to help—”

“I’m not Hiccup,” he snaps at her, controller falling off his lap and onto the ground.  “It’s not cancer.  I don’t need your pity and I don’t need your help.” 

“What?  It’s not pity.”  It hits her that Snotlout usually doesn’t manage to shock her that authentically and he’s not a great liar. 

“It’s what it feels like.” 

“I don’t pity you.”  She laughs like because he’s high it can be a joke but it doesn’t feel like something he’ll let her laugh off.  Even though it came from nowhere and made no sense and now she feels awful in that way she most associates with having half a dismal diagnosis.  “And I didn’t pity Hiccup.” 

“Whatever.” 

“Did he say I pitied him?  Or that he thought I did?” 

“He left, I don’t know.”  Snotlout shrugs and winces at the motion.  Astrid winces at what he said. 

“That’s a little harsh, don’t you think.”  

“He left, I’m not being harsh.” 

“I mean harsh to _me_.”  She snaps. 

“Right.  You were all in love with him or whatever.”  Snotlout yawns. 

“Nice.  Real nice.” 

“You can go if you don’t like how nice I am,” he waves at the door. 

He’s just saying that because he’s miserable.  And it shouldn’t be shocking, because he is Snotlout, not a known master of feelings and delicacy.  It was stupid to get used to getting along with him.  It’s not like they’re going to have sex tonight so she should just go.

But that stung even though it wasn’t supposed to and she doesn’t want to walk back into the world that doesn’t _know_.  Because yeah, Snotlout is an asshole who just threw it in her face but…but it’s out there, now, in the air between them instead of weighing on Astrid.  Even if it’s just for a few miserable minutes. 

“Did he tell you he thought I pitied him?” 

“He said something about it once.  I don’t think he meant it, he was just puking and shit.  He didn’t like you seeing him puke.”  Snotlout chooses some game and starts running around idly.  Astrid clicks a few buttons to try and orient herself.  She shoots something.  The music gets dramatic. 

“I didn’t pity him.  He was just sick.” 

“Right.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”  She turns to him, “I—never mind.” 

“Why never mind?” 

“Because you just got home from the hospital, I don’t think it’s time to fight.” 

“I’m Snotlout, you’re Astrid, it’s always time to fight.”  He shoots something he’s evidently supposed to shoot and picks up something from where it landed.  She’s lost on screen and games aren’t very much fun when there’s zero chance of winning. 

“That’s dismal.” 

“You love fighting.” 

“You don’t know what I love,” she shoots something just to shoot and Snotlout loots it before she can get to it. 

“Yeah I do,” he curls his lip and frowns at the screen, those hazy eyes unmistakably angry, “it’s either Hiccup or the fact that no one gave a shit that you disappeared into taking care of him all the damn time.  One of the two.  Also you love pissing me off.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“You have.”  He sounds miserable as he says it and for some reason that turns a shell shocked sort of sadness into fury kindling he’s actively throwing matches on. 

“What’s your problem?  No wonder you have so many friends if this is how you act when someone tries to help you—”

“You’re not someone.” 

“Oh, because you think I pity you?  You think I have enough energy to put time into pitying you?  That I have so little to do that I sit around thinking ‘oh wow, Snotlout, what a fucking pity, poor baby Snotlout’—” 

“Why else are you here?”  He’s swaying less, like getting mad is burning off whatever painkiller is still in his system and good, if he’s going to be an asshole he at least deserves to remember it. 

“Do you want me to go?” 

“Why do you care what I want?” 

“I don’t!”  She does.  Somehow.  Because he’s having a shit day and she cares that he’s having a shit day and she’s not supposed to, she knows that.  “And I don’t pity you, and I never pitied Hiccup—”

“Right.”  He dismisses that completely and she could hit him, if it weren’t inhumane on top of generally frowned upon. 

“If I pitied anyone, honestly, I pitied myself.  He was just sick, I was the one who missed half my senior games and lost my dream scholarship trying to help a guy who dumped me because—Because when he looked at me, he didn’t see anything other than his cancer, because I did disappear, apparently.  In his opinion.”  She exhales and sets her crosshairs on Snotlout’s character, because she’s pissed and it’s his fault and she can’t hit him in real life.  “I pity myself because I’m stuck at this shitty school trying to make a one in a lifetime opportunity happen twice.” 

“Right, stuck with me because I’m not going anywhere—Hey!”  He shouts when she shoots him.  “We’re on the same team!” 

“That implies I’d be allowed to help you.” 

“Fine Ms. Pity Party,” he shoots her.  They lose. 

“Don’t call me that.” 

“And you did help me, I asked for a ride and you gave me one but now you’re here acting like I can’t take care of myself and guess what?  I’m not your problem!  I don’t want to be your problem, I don’t like you when you’re fussing over someone—”

“I didn’t fuss—”

“You missed games!”  He drops his controller and the batteries pop out of the back and roll away.  “You lost your scholarship!  You let Hiccup dump you and run away and then you moped the whole goddamned summer!” 

“I fucked up—”

“Wait, I’m not done, you just sat there at told me that you pity yourself for having a shitty life!  Does that sound like Astrid to you?  Because it sure as fuck doesn’t to me.” 

“I said it, how can it not sound like me?”  It comes out quieter than she wants it to.  She wants to yell at him because he’s _wrong_ and he’s being a dick on purpose because he feels bad and wants her to feel bad too. 

But he’s not wrong. 

“Fine, it sounds like Hiccup’s girlfriend.  You know, the dumpable one who ate the real Astrid and became forgettable?” 

“You don’t get to say who the real Astrid is because we had sex a few times,” she says because she knows that’s true.  She suddenly doesn’t know how much of the rest of it is true.  Because suddenly she’s aware of this gauzy bubble that she didn’t put there and when she’s in it, she’s someone else. 

Because when Hiccup left she didn’t even cry.  She didn’t run ten miles and beat up the punching bag in her parents’ garage.  She smiled.  She waved.  She made sure his plane landed safe. 

She pitied herself and her luck and stayed down.  Maybe she’s still down. 

“Fine.  The Astrid I want to hang out with…is terrifying, and she would have killed me for saying that stuff, and she makes me try really hard because she tries really hard.  And she gave me a math fetish, which like…she’s a force of nature.  I want to hang out with Hurricane Astrid.” 

“A math fetish?”  She’s still too quiet, but that’s funny, at least, she knows that’s funny.  She’s a little flattered, honestly, in that practical way that Snotlout’s good at. 

He’s not wrong.  She doesn’t know if he’s right, but she knows he’s not wrong.  She can hear her own voice, echoing back and forth in her brain, just _I pitied myself, I pitied myself, I pitied myself_.  Like she was someone things happened to, suddenly, instead of someone who makes things happen. 

“Awkward,” he groans and flops back on the bed, wincing when his shoulder hits, “that’s what a math fetish is.  Real fucking awkward.” 

The TV booms, they lost again. 

“Yelling used up all the air in here,” he frowns, closing his eyes and looking deeply uncomfortable with his legs still hanging off of the bed.  “I know not to mix pain pills with alcohol but there should be a warning about yelling.” 

“I think that’s called manners and it’s in place all the time.” 

“Guys don’t have that,” he shakes his head, “I don’t think, anyway.”  He pinches the bridge of his nose and she laughs, barely an awkward little exhale. 

“How about a movie, or something?”  She fiddles around until she finds Netflix and starts scrolling aimlessly around. 

“Fine.  Just one less spinny than this room.”  He opens his eyes briefly then shuts them again and she looks at him waiting to feel mad and it doesn’t come. 

Because he’s a douche.  And an insensitive ass.  And he’s annoying and uses too much hair product and out of all the people in her life, he’s the only one who stuck his neck out to tell her the truth.  He’s the only one who did something other than look worried and tell her to sit down and be happy with the scraps of herself she managed to keep alive.  He’s the only one who separated who she is and what she could do for him and prioritized the first. 

Huh. 


	11. Chapter 11

Facts about Astrid:

  1. She pretty much single handedly dragged her team into playoffs
  2. She doesn’t laugh if painkillers get in the way of a hard dick, but she still expects enthusiasm.
  3. She’s not impressed if you fail to tackle a guy twice your size and there are no points for effort
  4. If you tell her the truth, she listens, but then you never see her because she’s the busiest person on the planet
  5. There’s nothing pitiable about her



 

When Astrid’s phone rings, and she’s literally naked and on top of him while he is also naked and they are actively having sex, the last thing he expects her to do is reach for it.  But she does, and her face goes pale. 

“Fuck, I have to take this.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah it’s about my transfer,” she holds the phone to her ear and answers with him still inside of her, “hello?” 

Someone very official sounding says something on the other end and she climbs off, dinging his self-esteem a little bit as she starts pacing the middle of the room, naked and apparently unaffected by stopping literally in the middle of sex to take an important call.  He sits up and pulls his blanket over his lap, glaring at her. 

“Yes, this is Astrid…uh huh…oh, I’m glad you got it, I hope the quality was ok,” she laughs and sits down, still naked and apparently unconcerned with the sex she just abruptly quit having, in his desk chair, chewing on her pinky nail.  “Well thank the coach for me, please, that’s great to hear.” 

She’s got that face, again, though.  That determined face that makes him homesick for years ago in a way he doesn’t really understand. 

“Oh, I thought I included that in the application…no, explaining is no problem, I don’t mind, it was just a personal issue.”  She crosses her legs and bounces her foot, the first sign of nerves since she ditched his dick for her phone.  It’s really a good thing they aren’t dating because come on.  “A very good friend was really sick…oh no, he’s ok now but it was touch and go for a couple of months and my schedule slipped…well thank you, I’ve been trying really hard here.” 

And that’s the truth, Snotlout’s hardly seen her in a week and when he did it was downright embarrassing because apparently anti-inflammatories work _everywhere_ and they ended up just like, watching a movie and making out because nothing could wake the sleeping beauty in his pants.  Not even Astrid laughing and talking about trig in his ear and making all the hair on the back of his neck stand up when she slipped cold hands under his shirt.  

It’s probably because of stupid medical issues, but seeing her is starting to make everywhere else hot too, like his face and his gut and his stupid hands that start sweating when she plays with her hair.  Like, he’s been used to having sex with her and then he couldn’t for a while and that could make him feel funny when she still insists on hanging out, right?  That makes sense. 

“I’d love a facilities tour, that would be fantastic,” she smiles, scrambling for a pen and writing on the pale skin above her knee instead of the paper right there, “…Victoria Lane…Next week?  I can do next week…yeah, that sounds great!  I’m excited to meet you then!  Thank you…have a good day yourself...alright, I will.”  She hangs up and looks at her knee, typing whatever she wrote into her phone before grinning at him.  “I have an athletic facilities tour at State next week,” she stands up and gives a silly little naked bow and his face does that stupid thing where it feels like he very suddenly got sunburned.  “Where were we?” 

“What makes you think it’s that easy?”  He pulls the blanket closer to his waist, “you just ditched me for a phone call, I’m not feeling very appreciated.” 

She sits on the bed next to him, tugging at the blanket and leaning in to kiss the side of his neck like she’s trying to distract him.  Which, she is, because the second he relaxes into it she tries to pull the blanket away and he glares at her. 

“Stop being such a baby,” she scoffs, “it was an important call—”

“Yeah,” he looks away from her, “so important you picked it up while on top of me.  Like that doesn’t dent a guy’s self-esteem.” 

“Good thing we’re not dating,” she puts her hand on his chest, pushing him back not at all gently and straddling his knees over the blanket, “your self-esteem isn’t my problem.” 

“Well, if you want to keep having sex right now it is,” he raises the blanket just enough to look at his half interested equipment.  He wrinkles his nose at the condom that’s dried out and gotten all weird and sticky.  “He’s feeling inferior.” 

“Right, that’s a thing.”  She rubs her hand up and down his chest a few times, “why’d you stop shaving, by the way?” 

“Now you’re going to pick on my grooming?”  He points at his left arm, “sling, Astrid, it’s a little bit inconvenient.” 

“I’m not picking on it, it’s nice.  Better than stubble.”  She drags her fingernails across his skin and he shivers and his traitorous dick twitches away from his leg.  She leans down and starts kissing across his shoulders, hips nudging against his.  “Are you really pouting your penis into submission, dude?”  She laughs, breath warm on his skin, “because this should work.” 

“Maybe you aren’t as good as you think you are.”  He lies, shifting so that she can’t feel how well it’s working because she doesn’t deserve that confidence boost before she even _apologizes_. 

“You can file official complaints at the conclusion of the service,” she laughs again, reaching under the blanket and grabbing him with sure, not exactly gentle fingers, “there’s a comment box by the door.” 

“You’re so weird,” he gives in, kissing her and letting his hand slide down her side to grip her hip.  He can’t touch her enough with the stupid sling on, and it makes this feel almost frantic, like there’s some finite edge to this. 

And of course, there is, of course this is going to be over at some point because she’s going to transfer to some better school and it won’t be convenient anymore.  And he’ll see her around, sometimes, maybe, in the summer when they’re both back home and maybe it’ll be convenient then, but she’ll probably find someone who she wants to have feelings and sex with, because she’s Astrid and who wouldn’t want that with her and this will just be that crazy semester where she banged her old not-quite-friend Snotlout a few times. 

“Are you still on anti-inflammatories?”  She pulls back enough to frown at him. 

“I took the last one yesterday, why?” 

“Did I like…actually offend you by taking that call?”  She grinds against him again, lips warm and damp against his jaw.  “Or is it—”

“Maybe I’m just tired,” he snaps, irritable all of a sudden because she just keeps _touching_ him in all of the right places and it’s pissing him off that she can be so casual about it. 

Even though they’re casual.  Definitionally.  She shouldn’t be able to know him so well while not feeling anything about it. 

“Whoa, what’s wrong?”  She sits back, hand in the middle of his chest like she’s going to play with his chest hair again and for some reason that felt real, but it wasn’t, because he’s just…a dick to her, that’s the _deal_.  And none of this is supposed to feel real. 

“You’re _objectifying_ me,” he blurts, propping himself on his good elbow because he doesn’t like being _under_ her all of a sudden. 

“I’m what?” 

“Like I’m not an object you can just hop back on when you’re ready, jeez,” he sits up after she climbs off of him and does she have to…be everything she is all the damn time? 

Does she really have to stand around looking like that and kicking ass at everything like she actually listened to him when he told her she was slipping?  Does she have to have all that hair and say those things when she opens her big, bossy mouth?  He doesn’t know how he ever thought he missed her, because this is insane, how could he miss someone so...so…

“That’s not what objectifying means, but ok, I’m sorry for answering my phone, we don’t have to—”

“Of course we have to, I’m your fuckbuddy.” 

“Are you ok?”  She puts the back of her hand on his forehead but it doesn’t feel like fussing.  She’s still her, there’s none of that fake earnest silence in her eyes.  It’s more like she’s worried she’ll regret smacking him if he’s hurt _and_ sick so she’s making sure first. 

“I’m fine,” he pushes her hand away and misses it as soon as it’s gone, which makes him think about her leaving, which apparently makes him stupid.  “I just got psyched out thinking about you transferring, I guess.” 

“Why would that psyche you out?”  She sits down next to him, pulling his blanket around her armpits like she’s hunkering down for a naked chat and that’s not something they agreed on so why does he want it?

“I don’t know, I’m sort of used to you being around now I guess.”  He looks at the floor to avoid looking at her because it feels like something he’s not supposed to do.  Like he’ll be breaching some contract if he does, “and it’s going to be weird when you’re not anymore.” 

“ _If_ I’m not anymore, I haven’t even been accepted yet.” 

“Of course you’re going to get in, you’re _you_.” 

“Am I?”  She shakes her head, brows furrowed slightly like they do when she’s reading and her eyes start to get tired.  She looks tired, and he thinks how many times she’s texted him about picking up extra practices so that her coach will make her captain for playoffs and how she got like a million applications done in like a week, because she’s insane. 

She’s the one who needs someone fussing over her. 

“Dude, haven’t you practiced like thirty hours this week or something crazy like that?” 

“Seventeen,” she yawns, “which isn’t that much.” 

“Yeah, you’re you.”  He rolls his eyes, “I’m exhausted just listening to you, your standards are crazy, and you just answered a phone during better than decent sex because it lined up with your five year plan.  Classic, vintage Astrid.” 

“Shut up,” she punches him in the good arm and he frowns. 

“Hey, I need that one.” 

“Right, you need something to tide you over while I’m busy.” 

“Yeah, and when you leave.”  He hates that little pang in his chest when he says it, “I’m going to lock myself in here and jerk off for like a week until I don’t miss you anymore.” 

“A week?”  She laughs, “even you don’t love yourself that much.”  She looks like she thinks she just said the funniest thing in the world and that makes him laugh, because somehow insults aren’t insults anymore, she isn’t trying to hurt him.  She leans sideways slightly, resting her head on his good shoulder like it’s not weird for him to feel her ribcage shake with silent giggles over her own stupid joke. 

It isn’t weird.  It should be weird, but it’s not, and it’s not weird when he puts his arm around her and holds her there.  It’s not weird when she yawns again, like all that frantic energy was waiting for a phone call and now that it’s over she’s crashing. 

It’s going to take longer than a week.  Isn’t it? 

Not the jerking off, that should only be a couple of days because his hand and his dick have been separated for a while and they’ll probably get hot and heavy like all long distance couples do when reunited, but the missing Astrid part.  The wanting to tell her things or talk to her or see her because everyone needs the occasional reminder that they’re unworthy. 

“Want to watch a movie?”  She leans a little harder on him and he gets the feeling she’s going to fall asleep as soon as they start one. 

“You have a couple hours of free time to sit still?”  He fakes astonished and she smacks his chest with the back of her hand.  It’s a lazy, lingering slap and it feels weirdly real too. 

“I’ll shift some things around.” 

He’s right, she does fall asleep almost immediately.  And she starts snoring, tiny little whistle sounding snores that he almost can’t believe are hers, because if he had to guess her snores would be big and loud.  It’s _cute_.  An undeniable kind of cute that he can’t find any other word for and if he thinks Astrid is cute and he can’t even stay hard when he just thinks about her leaving then he was an idiot. 

He should have let her fuss over him and be annoying and boring and lame, because if he had, he wouldn’t have ruined everything by falling for her all over again. 


	12. Chapter 12

Facts about Snotlout:

  1. He thinks it’s funny to wake people up by tickling their noses
  2. He kept his mathbook in view while having sex this morning
  3. Not playing is killing him
  4. He gets flustered when his chest hair is complimented but it is endlessly better than the stubble
  5. He drinks the girliest coffee on the menu



 

“What are you looking at?”  Snotlout gives Astrid a stink eye across the table and Astrid blinks twice before realizing she’s zoned out staring in his direction.  He has whipped cream stuck to the faint scruffy moustache on his upper lip. 

She gets the weird urge to lick it off and wonders what he’d do if she showed up with a bottle of whipped cream.  He’d probably go for it.  It’s not like they haven’t done kinkier things, like incorporating their most boring homework into sex games. 

“Nothing,” she points at her lip, “you’ve just got—yeah, you got it.” 

He licks it off and it makes her heart beat faster because apparently this morning wasn’t enough.  Because if you feed a monster it grows bigger and her inner monster has been eating well lately. 

It’s weird being out in public with him, like another seat at the table is occupied by a big old secret that neither of them can talk about.  It’s not like hanging out before they slept together and it’s not like being in their rooms or at a party or one of their games.  Doing homework together in a coffee shop in the middle of the day feels more public, in a way.  Like there’s not enough people and noise for their secret to blend in and there’s not enough privacy to let it out. 

Maybe it’s because of what they did this morning or maybe it’s because she ended up taking yet another nap in his bed until he suggested caffeine, but it’s too loud in her head with all the realities no one knows that she knows about him. 

At least thinking about him is better than thinking about herself, about the months spent pitying herself while she drifted deeper and deeper into a problem that it feels like there’s not enough time to fix now.  She submitted her transfer applications and had a phone interview with a second choice school but she still has to finish her season.  And so much could still go wrong. 

Snotlout coughs and Astrid looks up at him again.  The white fabric at the edge of his sling is starting to get dingy and she wonders how much longer he has to wear it and if asking would fall under the broad umbrella of nursing him.  Ha, she should have been a nurse for Halloween, that would have been hilarious, he probably would have let her take care of him then.  And that’s strange too, that she wants to, that she cares so casually about his well-being when she doesn’t have to.  In fact, she probably shouldn’t. 

He’s right, her taking care of him too much would make this dangerously less casual. 

Already sometimes it feels like they’re starting to be friends in the way that random sex in locker rooms and her backseat might damage.  But that’s different for them too, because it’s not like they were friends first, their friendship is predicated on the sex, not the other way around.  It’s probably just normal that they’re getting more comfortable with each other while clothed, that’s just what happens when two people have enough casual sex. 

“Do you want some or something?”  Snotlout asks, semi-annoyed, sliding an uneaten half a croissant to the middle of the table.  “You’re still being all creepy.” 

“I’m not being creepy,” she picks it up and takes a bite.  It’s not good.  Everyone knows that the school coffee shop leaves pastries out for weeks but Snotlout buys them anyway because in his words ‘bread doesn’t get old’.  Because he’s an idiot. 

“You’re staring at me like a creep.” 

“I promise I’m not staring at you, I’m just tired,” she looks back at her computer, “not everything is about you.” 

“I didn’t say everything was about me, I said you were staring.” 

“Well, I’m not.”  It sounds madder than she is.  She sticks her tongue out at him because she’s not actually angry and he flips her off.  They laugh.  That part doesn’t feel weird. 

Snotlout looks up at her a couple minutes later and she rolls her eyes, shaking her coffee cup to make sure it’s really empty. 

“And you said I was staring.” 

“I’m not staring, I just barely glanced up while I was _thinking_ —”

“Oh, ok, we all act a little weird when we try something new,” she reaches across the table to pat his hand and barely avoids him smacking her arm away.  They both laugh again.  Snotlout’s face is redder than normal and Astrid narrows her eyes.  “What?  Do you have to do math next?” 

“Oh fuck you, it’s not funny,” he sighs, “I have another test next week.” 

“What day?  I’ll make sure I’m free after.” 

“Well, good, because it _is_ your fault after all—”

“I would never deny credit for something as great as your math fetish.” 

“Yeah, you wouldn’t,” he waggles his eyebrows and turns red again when she laughs.  “It’s Tuesday.” 

“Cool, I don’t have anything after practice on Tuesday.” 

They look at each other for another moment before turning back to their homework.  Snotlout puts on headphones and music loud enough that Astrid can hear static-y bass from three feet away, because apparently he isn’t attached to his shoulder or his hearing.  The bell on the front door jingles and Ruffnut, of all people, walks in and sits in the chair where their big old secret was sitting and Astrid forces her face completely flat. 

They’re just doing homework together.  It’s not like they’re playing footsie or making out or anything. 

“Astrid, just the woman I’m looking for.  Could you possibly buy me a coffee because I forgot your wallet and also loan me your keys because I forgot my room key?”  She smiles a wide, fake smile, “I’ll super owe you.” 

“I’m happy to see you too, Ruffnut, what a kind and thoughtful greeting after a hectic week where we barely saw each other,” Astrid says in a sickly sweet voice and SNotlout snorts, taking what looks like the last sip of his drink. 

“I’ll wash your uniform or shine your cleats or something, I promise.”  Ruffnut sweetens the offer and Astrid sighs. 

“Fine, but only because I need another drink myself.  Snotlout, how about you?  Another hot milk and sugar that you pay five dollars for them to wave over coffee?”  She stands up and grabs her wallet. 

“Oh, look at me, I’m Astrid, even my taste buds are tough—”

“I’m Snotlout, I order almond milk because I’m a 34 year old, vegan mother of two—”

“Oh my god, it’s Snotlout!  You’ve been fucking Snotlout!”  Ruffnut practically shouts, because it’s loud enough that everyone around them looks. 

“What are you talking about?”  Astrid plays dumb. 

“That’s none of your business!”  Snotlout’s red again, and he’s making it really fucking obvious. 

Ruffnut’s eyes widen and she looks between them, “holy shit, it’s true, isn’t it?  It makes sense—you didn’t tell me?  Snotlout?  Really?  That’s like—it must be the end of the fucking world—”

“I think you’re getting ahead of yourself,” Astrid tries to calm her down and Snotlout nods like he wants to help. 

“Yeah, there’s like a million other reasons Astrid could have been acting weird for the last five and a half weeks.” 

“Five and a half weeks?”  Ruffnut reaches for the paper bag the croissant came in and breathes into it, because she wasn’t already causing enough of a spectacle. 

“Why would you admit it?”  Astrid shoves Snotlout’s uninjured shoulder and he shakes his head. 

“I didn’t admit anything!” 

“I’m choking on two year old pastry flakes—” Ruffnut coughs and Astrid thumps her on the back. 

“Bread doesn’t go bad!”  Snotlout insists. 

“Not with your betraying, Snotlout-fucking hands,” Ruffnut manages to say around another cough and Astrid looks around at everyone looking at them. 

“You obviously aren’t really choking,” she starts packing up her stuff, trying to ignore the low whisper blooming around them and while she’s heard worse, been at the center of worse, this still doesn’t feel good.  In some ways it’s more sour than being the girl who got dumped by the guy with cancer, because of course she couldn’t control that, but this?  This was supposed to be hers. 

“Astrid, wait,” Snotlout reaches for her backpack as she swings it onto her shoulder, but she shakes her head, turning on her heel towards the door.  She doesn’t look back. 


	13. Chapter 13

Facts about Astrid:

  1. She snores. But not how you’d imagine Astrid would snore, more like a tiny kitten would snore
  2. She likes to be hugged really tight while her breathing slows down after sex. Like, really tight, like so tight it seems like her ribs might crack
  3. Her feet are ticklish
  4. She always jumps if you kiss her belly button. Even if it’s like fifty times in a row. 
  5. Until today, she’s never taken longer than six hours to text back



 

Snotlout (5:32pm): hows ruffnut  
Snotlout (6:10pm): is she holding you hostage  
Snotlout (8:44pm): are you mad at me? I didn’t think I was giving anything away you were there shes just a creepy mind reader  
Snotlout (3:03am): seriously though just let me know you didn’t change your number  
Snotlout (3:10am): and you know what? no one cares it’s not a big thing we’re adults and ruffs just being an asshole people have sex all the time and most of them don’t even know each other as well as we do  
Snotlout (11:18am): just let me know ruffnut didn’t kill you or something

Snotlout sits on the foot of his bed and stares at his phone.  Tuffnut is here, for once, instead of camping in the basement of the physics building like he’s been doing so often lately.  Astrid isn’t here, which is weird, and how did Snotlout not realize how used to her presence he was?  She was just kind of…always around, wasn’t she? 

“So, I heard my sister made a fool of herself because you and Astrid banged.  How was it?” 

“Dude, who asks that?”  Snotlout snaps, shoving his phone in his pocket where it’s harder to stare at. 

“Oh, no, not about banging, I don’t care.  Was it awesome when my sister made a fool of herself?” 

“She choked on a croissant.”  Snotlout stares at the TV, some football game he thought he cared about but obviously doesn’t playing out onscreen.  Not texting back doesn’t seem like Astrid.  It goes against that annoying thing where she always has to have the last word even when she’s wrong. 

“Ha.  That’s classic French slapstick.  I always thought I’d end up a mime, it’s too bad my voice is so beautiful.” 

“What are you even talking about?”  He adjusts his sling and pouts.  It’s pouting.  Not glowering or anything cool.  Pouting. Fucking lame. 

“Fuck if I know,” Tuffnut shrugs, “what’s got you all broody?” 

“I’m not brooding.”  He’s pouting.  The significantly less cool and more dramatic brother of brooding.  “Astrid won’t text me back.  I think she’s pissed at me because your sister’s an asshole.” 

“She’ll probably be at that party tonight.  Ruffnut’s making me go so she’s probably making Astrid go too.”  Tuffnut gets a bottle of water from the mini fridge, “she says I need to kill a few more brain cells to make it in theoretical physics.  And if I understood string theory I have a hankering I could prove her right.” 

“I don’t want to go to some stupid party.” 

“Then how are you going to talk to Astrid?”

“I know where she lives, genius.”  He kicks the storage drawer under his bed, “she could just answer my texts though, so I’d know if she’d even let me in.” 

“That’s why the party’s a good idea.  Lots of witnesses, she has no legal property rights.” 

“Yeah, I’m just going to walk up to Astrid and talk to her while she’s pissed at me for no reason, great idea.” 

“You could shout at her from across the room, it wouldn’t be as efficient but it is an option.” 

“I’m not going to the stupid party.” 

He ends up going to the stupid party. 


	14. Chapter 14

Facts about Snotlout:

  1. He has 0 tact
  2. He just wants attention
  3. He has a horrible habit of being right at the most annoying times
  4. He’s a creepy psychic who somehow knows when other people are awake in the middle of the night and he always texts then
  5. He needs a haircut.   It’s out of control.



 

“Have you considered a future in special forces?” Ruffnut narrows her eyes at Astrid over a plastic cup of beer, “because I’ve been grilling you all day and haven’t scorched so much as a secret hot dog.”

“Why do you want to know about it anyway?  You obviously think it’s gross.” 

Somehow, that’s never something Astrid thought.  Which is weird now, she guesses, because it’s the most obvious reaction on Ruffnut’s part and something she should have anticipated.  Except she never thought about anyone finding out, not since the beginning when everyone was so comfortably clueless that she could loosen up slightly.  Not since it became fun and started to feel like physical friendship instead of contractual sex. 

“A lot of gross things are still fascinating,” Ruffnut shrugs, “my brother’s feet, taxidermy, smallpox.  The mental gymnastics an otherwise mostly sane woman must perform to land on Snotlout Jorgenson’s dick.”

“Freshman psychology strikes again,” Astrid sighs, “I just needed a break.  I guess.  And it was.” 

Was seems finite.  It isn’t is anymore because how could it be? Ruffnut knows, people know, now it’s just something other people get to have opinions on.  Now she’s the girl who got over being dumped by the guy with cancer by fucking his cousin, who happens to be _Snotlout_.  Which is a dirty word when other people say it for an entirely different reason than it seems dirty to Astrid. 

“From the natural order of things?” 

“Yeah.  Maybe.”  Because the natural order of things is that Astrid loves Hiccup.  Hiccup has cancer.  Cancer kills legs and relationships.  Hiccup moves on.  Astrid stays still, like cancer isn’t really gone, like it just moved onto a new host in her motivation.  In the courage that used to be so central, the same courage that led her to Hiccup despite cancer in the first place.  “The natural order doesn’t seem so great for me.” 

“So you had sex with Snotlout.  More than once.”  Ruffnut rubs her temple like she’s scared of failing her midterm in Astrid Logic 305.  “Right, that’s what you do.” 

“What do you want me to tell you?  That it was a distraction?  That it was convenient?”  She chugs the last inch of beer in her cup, “that I regret it?”

She doesn’t.  For the real record, the one in her brain that she doesn’t necessarily have to share because she’s not sure who it would really help.  Not her.  She’d say she regrets it if it’d shut Ruffnut up and let her think but she doesn’t regret it. 

She _should_ , but she’s done with shoulds and have tos and lying to herself to keep someone else happy.  She’s going to be honest and miserable and proud of it. 

“I want to hear he has a magic hypnosis dick.”

“He has a magical hypnosis dick.” 

“Sarcasm doesn’t help anything, you know, Astrid.  It just introduces lies and hostility into relationships.” 

“Trust me, we already have both of those,” Astrid rolls her eyes.  She doesn’t want to be here.  She’s not sure where she wants to be, honestly, but it’s not here. 

“I mean…was he good?” 

“I’m not telling you that.” 

“In an ‘I had bad sex repeatedly’ way or an ‘I’m not sharing credit for my unlikely discovery’ way?” 

“In an ‘I’m going to find another, stronger drink’ way.”

Ruffnut doesn’t follow when Astrid walks away, thank god, and she pauses by the drink table for a minute, close enough to the speaker that she can’t hear anyone talking.  Because God, everyone’s talking.  All the time.  And it feels like she’s lost whatever would make them have to listen to her. 

But she know she didn’t lose anything, that’s dumb, the entire point of everything was that there was nothing to lose.  It was just Snotlout.  It was casual.  She didn’t give any of herself to it and he was supposed to do the same.  But she didn’t think it through how stupid and risky it was in the world of her friends.  And that didn’t have anything to do with why she started but it has everything to do with why she stopped. 

Someone taps her on the shoulder. 

She knows it’s Snotlout before she turns around.  And she hates that she knows, because you have to know someone to know how they shoulder tap and how they breathe and stand and exist.  She thinks about ignoring him, because maybe he’d just _stop_ like his texts did, but she knows him better than that.  He knows her well enough to know that saying nothing kills her. 

“What?”  She turns around and crosses her arms.  He looks bad.  Sad.  Tired.  Scruffy.  His sling is harder to look at than the rest of him. 

“Can we talk?”  He shouts over the speakers and she understands what he’s saying but it’s garbled.  She pretends it’s too garbled, shaking her head and pointing at her ear. 

“I can’t hear you.” 

“Can.  We.  Talk?”  He says louder, eyes bulging slightly in a red face and it’s funny because he looks stupid and she’s furious that she can’t laugh at him anymore.  Because joking with him is apparently giving herself away, because there’s something about them to give away. 

She hates that she passed through another invisible door and right is wrong again. 

“I really can’t hear you.  The music is loud.”  She points at the speaker and he grabs her wrist with his good arm and drags her a few feet away from the noise.  “Hey, Snotlout the Brutish, let me go.” 

He drops her arm.  That pisses her off, because he’s supposed to be _Snotlout_.  He’s supposed to be a jerk who drags her around and doesn’t listen and that’s what she signed up for, not big, hurt, blue eyes that make her feel like shit for casually breaking a casual thing. 

“Can we _please_ just step outside, away from Ruffnut staring at us,” he waves at Ruff, who waves back, unashamed, “and talk.  For a minute.” 

“Fine.”  She wants to ask if he’s going to drag her.  If she has a rare audience with bona fide caveman Snotlout.  She feels like saying that would end in sex and she hates that too.  She stalks past him and he follows as she slips through the patio door into the cold night.  It was still warm when they started this stupidity and that makes it all more significant somehow. 

She was barely with Hiccup for a year.  And she could hardly ever see him every day, let alone outside of a hospital room.  She and Snotlout have been a constant _something_ for almost two months now. 

“Why won’t you answer my texts?” 

Because they aren’t casual.  Because she’s embarrassed, but not of him, of her and…and…and how it doesn’t matter how much she fights for it, she just can’t find that control again.  Because answering means making him feel better and she was never supposed to want to do that. 

“I thought you said you wanted to talk,” she sits down in a plastic chair that’s cold on the back of her bare legs and suddenly her skirt is more stupid remembered touches than it is denim.  She can’t look at him, because it feels like she’s going to see something that just isn’t there.  “Not rehash the obvious.” 

“Well, it’s not obvious to me, so maybe you could explain why you aren’t answering my texts.”  He frowns.  His beard is patchy, he shouldn’t ever grow it out.  Between the dark circled glare and sling and stupid scruffy moustache he looks younger.  Vulnerable in a way they aren’t supposed to be with each other. 

It was just sex.  No feelings.  It’s _Snotlout_.  And now he looks like one big walking feeling getting ready to pelt her with a bunch of smaller, angrier feelilngs.

“So we aren’t even friends anymore?”  He looks hurt.  She doesn’t like it.  It’s none of her business whether he’s sad or not because it was never supposed to be like _that_.  It was never like that.  He doesn’t want her help, he made that clear, he doesn’t want that soft-edged, life-dizzy person.  She shouldn’t care what he wants. 

“Were we ever?”  It hurts to say it.  It’s like finding new bruises after a hard game and trying to put together when the injury happened. 

She doesn’t know when it started feeling important that Snotlout was her friend but it feels important that he isn’t anymore. 

“I thought we got there!”  He looks like she’s telling him the sky is green and maybe hers is and his isn’t and that’s what people mean when they invoke the natural order of things.  That green sky people belong with green sky people and they should leave blue sky people alone. 

“I…” She pushes her bangs back from her face, and she needs a haircut too because they’ve been doing something stupid so long that both their hair grew, “Ruffnut knows now.  Everyone knows and that makes it different.  And it’s probably good, because we should take a step back, honestly.  If—this worked because there wasn’t a friendship to ruin and we aren’t as strapped for time—”

“It’s not a scheduling conflict!”

“—and we should cool down and not let hormones make stupid decisions for us.” 

It sounds reasonable.  Like something the adult Astrid is trying to be would say and it pisses Snotlout off, because he grits his teeth and sets his jaw and she hates that it makes her want to kiss him because she knows he’s almost vengefully good if he’s mad enough.  She knows that anger makes him better and stronger and it makes her worse and more stupid. 

“What decisions?”  He snorts, “because ignoring me isn’t a decision, it’s you returning to your default.” 

He said it to hurt her.  He shouldn’t have that power, because she swore she was never going to give that to anyone ever again, but it hits somewhere just south of her ribcage and settles like a rock in her gut. 

“That’s not fair—”

“What decision, then, Astrid?” 

“How about the one where you thought you could just tell—”

“Oh my god, I didn’t tell anyone, you just can’t deal with having no one to blame.  Someone found out I exist, boo-hoo for you.” 

“And you couldn’t deal with having one secret—”

“Maybe I don’t have anything to be ashamed of!”  He shouts, louder than she’s heard him since he broke his arm falling out of that tree when they were eight.  And it’s not scary, it’s not threatening, it’s wounded.  And she has the power to hurt him too, and that’s responsibility she definitely didn’t sign up for. 

“I’m not ashamed.”  She lies.  She is.  She’s ashamed that she’s furious and that she’s feeling so much she never agreed to.  And she’s ashamed that he’s hurt and that she did it and that she feels raw and stupid. 

“Because it’s me and not someone else.”  He says it like he’s reading her mind but she can’t find those words herself. 

“No.”  She shakes her head.  She’s not as loud as she wants to be.  “I’m not _ashamed_.” She clears her throat and tries again.  “I just don’t want it to get back to Hiccup.” 

“Right,” he shakes his head and he looks bitter and sad and he should be rubbing this in her face but he’s not.  “It’s about Hiccup.” 

Of course it is. 

She doesn’t want to say that.  If she says it it’s real.  All of this is real. 

She shrugs, “even if it isn’t, he shouldn’t have to handle it.” 

“You have…so much to figure out, Astrid,” he puts his hand in his pocket and she doesn’t know why he won’t fight with her.  Why he won’t throw and throw and throw until it’s ridiculous and funny and this can all just _go away_.  “I’m out of here, I knew this was a bad idea.”  He walks away and she almost chases after him because that can’t just be the end of it.  That isn’t how this ends. 

“Finally, you’re right about something!”  She shouts after him, lurching to her feet, “there’s a first time for everything!” 

He flips her off.  She does the same but he doesn’t turn around to see it and it just floats there, angry and unfinished and sore. 


	15. Chapter 15

Facts about Astrid:

  1. She DID have headgear and it looked ridiculous
  2. Her feet are so callused they’ve been known to tear sheets, it’s gross
  3. She cares too much what people think
  4. Chances are she’s still in love with Hiccup
  5. Hiccup is an idiot for leaving her



 

Ruffnut posts about fifteen moody, filtered photos of herself and flowers and muddy puddles online and tags Snotlout and Astrid in all of them.  It’s the kind of thing he’d laugh with Astrid about if they were talking.  Which they aren’t. 

Or friends, which they aren’t.  Apparently. 

And that hurts more than not having sex with her. 

And worst of all, that means Astrid was right about ending it.  Them.  Because apparently his nemesis, the necrotic, evil, cursed Crush: Destroyer of Lives has used this moment of overall shittiness to emerge from its crypt. 

Snotlout likes Astrid. 

He likes her in all of the stupid little ways no one is supposed to.  He likes her bruised shins and her murder glare and the way she sleeps with her mouth open like a catfish with way more hair.  He likes how much energy she puts into appearing practical when she’s the most rash, over the top person he knows.  He likes how all of that was still there, hibernating until all that moping melted away.  He likes how she’s mean without being cruel and how her expression catches on fire when he says she might lose and…

And mostly he likes how she’s someone that takes the truth and hears it and uses it.  How she hated hearing herself admit that she pitied herself just as much as he hated her confirming it.  And he loves how she took that and changed, how she heard him and listened and launched herself into it because she’s not afraid of hard work the way she is of failure by forfeit. 

And she’s _back_.  The Astrid he remembers, the Astrid that pisses him off more than anyone else in the entire world.  The Astrid who’s stubborn and fierce and…and has no interest in him.  Because when she’s at her best, she’s the girl that fell for Hiccup, not him.  And when she’s at her best, she has all that potential to fall back through dismal hoops in hospital waiting rooms and end up back where this all started. 

Except now Snotlout has a boner for calculus. 

Everything is back to exactly how it was and somehow he’s the only one changed and it’s not even in a good way.  Has he learned his lesson about reaching for things that only the Hiccups of the world get?  No!  Can he deal with any of these stupid feelings?  Hell nah.  But apparently he’d fuck a derivative, so he has that going for him. 

And that’s just another thing Astrid would think is funny.  _Did_ think was funny.  That happened, she waved his calculus book at him and laughed when he was suddenly up for seconds when before there had been no signs of life on the lower deck.  And he just has to live with that, with a million stupid moments that he didn’t realize he was remembering and the fact that they were real.  And that they don’t exist anywhere but in his head because Astrid obviously isn’t clinging to them. 

Snotlout’s phone buzzes and the hopeful little brain puppy he still has to kill hopes that it’s Astrid. 

It’s not.  It’s Hiccup. 

Hiccup (5:44pm): What did you and Astrid do to Ruffnut to make her go all depression vague-booking?  
Hiccup (5:45pm): Let me rephrase that: what did Ruffnut do that convinced you and Astrid to work together?

Snotlout (5:47pm): hows wherever the fuck you are man? we haven’t caught up in forever

Hiccup (5:48pm): Oh god it’s so bad you’re avoiding a question, what’d you do?  
Hiccup (5:49pm): I’ll ask Astrid, she’ll tell me whether you do or not. 

Right.  Because they’re just so fucking close and compatible and he doesn’t have that with anyone but most of all not with her.  Because Astrid doesn’t tell him things, she fires words like weapons aiming to piss him off, like the script at the beginning of a WWE special.  She talks to Hiccup and she tries to make Snotlout pick up a chair. 

And maybe that’s just what she wants.  Now that she’s done with him and that she’s a force to be reckoned with, going after anything and everything, she probably wants Hiccup back too.  And he hates it and hates her and wants her to stay loud even if she gets everything she wants to make her happy. 

Snotlout (5:50pm): I bet shed love to hear from you and fuck me for trying to start a conversation with my cousin right?

Hiccup (5:52pm): You don’t even know where I am, dude  
Hiccup (5:52pm): That messes with the ‘close cousins’ thing  
Hiccup (5:53pm): I’m in Germany, by the way, in case it’s on the quiz at the end of the family newsletter

Snotlout (5:55pm): hows germany?

Hiccup (5:56pm): German, I guess

Snotlout (5:57pm): sweet

Hiccup (5:58pm): What did you mean when you said Astrid wanted to talk to me?

Snotlout (5:59pm): I dont fucking know since when have I meant anything I say?

Hiccup (6:00pm): That’s weird even for you

Snotlout (6:00pm): Everything is weird  
Snotlout (6:00pm): and Ruffnut is blaming us for her choking on a croissant

Hiccup (6:01pm): Sometimes I miss that.  People are a little less…dramatic outside of Berk

Snotlout doesn’t like that.  He doesn’t like what that appears to imply, that Hiccup thinks about coming back and…re-inserting himself.  That makes it more real, to actually think about Hiccup walking back into their lives, how it’d feel to see Astrid…do that again.  Like she thinks it’ll be different if she tries harder and maybe it will be, for a while.  But in the end Hiccup is still Hiccup and Astrid is barely Astrid again and even if she’s not talking to him he suddenly can’t take the thought of her not existing. 

If he has to live without Astrid in his world, because he’s not enough for her and he’s himself and she’s just…better than everything, then he’s still going to do everything in his power to make sure she’s still out there, somewhere, mentally flipping him off on the rare occasions he happens to cross her mind. 

And also, if Hiccup is such a shallow idiot that he wouldn’t want Astrid anymore because she had sex with him then he doesn’t deserve to have her accidentally condition him to get it up in some awkward, scholastic way.  And if Hiccup knowing is the only thing that makes Astrid lose that irritatingly brave face, then she should face it.  And he should help. 

Or start a giant fire she has to put out because that’s how they work. 

Snotlout (6:02pm): well and she’s mad at us for keeping a dumb secret

Hiccup (6:03pm): I don’t even know what to do with that. Did you make the croissant? 

Snotlout (6:05pm): nah Astrid and I were banging for like five and a half weeks in like a no strings attached just sex kind of arrangement and apparently we’re supposed to run that shit by ruffnut first who knew right?  
Snotlout (6:06pm): also totes don’t know if you heard I dislocated my shoulder in a game a couple of weeks ago and it sucks ass

It’s a little like jumping onto the tracks to derail Hiccup’s train, and like…ok, martyrs are sexy, Snotlout doesn’t know anyone who didn’t have a thing for Joan of Arc at some point.  He can live with that.  Assuming Astrid doesn’t kill him when she figures out he told Hiccup, which is kind of an out there assumption, honestly but…she’s going to be pissed.  Irreconcilably pissed.  Pissed enough to stay pissed even if Hiccup pulls his head out of his ass. 

And sue him, honestly, it feels kind of good to tell somebody.  Even if it’s over, it happened, and if people in general know it’s more real.  Those memories have solid ground to stand on.  He’s…lucky, to have them then, he guesses. 

Because guys with his luck don’t get approached by hot girls for unattached sex and even when they do, hot girls don’t all have Astrid Hoffersons inside of them waiting to make your day and fuck up your life.  That’s a singular event. 

Snotlout gets something now.  That futile self-pity that comes with wanting a once in a lifetime chance to happen twice. 

Hiccup (6:15pm): Uh, that sucks

Snotlout (6:15pm): the first or second thing?

Hiccup (6:16pm): The shoulder, that sucks, I guess

Snotlout (6:18pm): did you see the other thing?  
Snotlout (6:18pm): the thing where Astrid and I had a not relationship sex thing

Hiccup (6:19pm): I did see that

Snotlout (6:19pm): for five and a half weeks

Hiccup (6:20pm): That’s what you said

Snotlout (6:22pm): yeppp

It’s awkward.  No more awkward than most conversations with Hiccup, honestly.  At least Snotlout won this round of awkward.  It feels a little bit like going down in a blaze of glory and maybe Joan of Arc will give him half a shot in the post-murdered-by-Astrid afterlife.

Hiccup (6:24pm): And why are you telling me this?

Snotlout (6:25pm): I just thought you’d want to know

Hiccup (6:26pm): I definitely didn’t so if you could not…like, ever.  Never again. 

Snotlout (6:27pm): I just thought it was important in case you decide to come back and fuck her over again  
Snotlout (6:27pm): that I was THERE

Hiccup (6:28pm): what do you mean fuck her over?  We’re still friends

Snotlout (6:28pm): whatever you want to tell yourself bro

Hiccup (6:30pm): we both broke up with each other, it just made sense with me leaving, it was the right thing to do  
Hiccup (6:31pm): Fuck

Snotlout (6:31pm): yeah

It’s a rare, precious victory.  One of those legendary moments where Hiccup sees even for a moment that he might not be right.  Which is totally worth a martyr death at Astrid’s hands.  Because he wasn’t supposed to care enough to notice but he ended up noticing anyway. 

Hiccup (6:32pm): why do you care so much?  
Hiccup (6:32pm): I thought you two were just like…not together

Snotlout (6:33pm): just sex, you mean

Hiccup (6:33pm): Yeah, I’m not going to repeat that with my own hands, but if that’s true, why do you care so much?

Snotlout (6:34pm): because she’s finally starting to act like herself again and she deserves that  
Snotlout (6:34pm): even if I’m more interested in that than she is in me  
Snotlout (6:35pm): and she’s going to literally kill me for telling you anything so think of some touching last words from tunnel twin to twin, cuz

Hiccup (6:35pm): you had to??? Go there???

Snotlout (6:35pm): just painting a picture

Hiccup (6:36pm): not one anyone wants to see

Snotlout (6:36pm):  I do.  I want to see it. 

Snotlout laughs.  He can imagine Hiccup’s disgusted face.  Which like, maybe spitefully Snotlout is a little happy that Hiccup might stay the fuck away from her.  That he’ll wait for her to come after him when and if she wants.  When.  It’s always a when.  This sucks too much for it to be an if. 

Hiccup (6:38pm): I can’t believe I’m asking you this but…have you told her how you feel? 

Fucking Hiccup.  So stuck on being a ‘good person’ that he can’t even get pissed and jealous and angry right.  Douche.  Snotlout sighs and kicks his feet up on the desk, because no one is going to look at him with disgust anymore for getting mud on his keyboard. 

Snotlout (6:38pm): it’s not six weeks  
Snotlout (6:38pm): she made herself pretty clear

Hiccup (6:39pm): tell her anyway, she should hear you out

Snotlout (6:40pm): I heard her the first time and I don’t really need to hear it again dude

That they were never friends.  That it didn’t mean to her what it started to mean to him.  That she couldn’t bare for anyone to know.  That he wasn’t enough.  That silent little nagging statement that if he were Hiccup, there wouldn’t be anything to be embarrassed of. 

Snotlout (6:41pm): but you do need to hear again that she’s not property to claim but I did plenty of staking

Hiccup (6:42pm): wait, are you…using yourself as like…Hiccup repellent around Astrid?

Snotlout (6:43pm): around?  Try on  
Snotlout (6:43pm): under

Hiccup (6:43pm): gah, stop

Snotlout (6:43pm): in, over, under, on, nearby, close to, in a variety of locations

Hiccup (6:44pm): I get it, stop, just stop  
Hiccup (6:44pm): we aren’t that close  
Hiccup (6:44pm): I never want to be that close to anyone

Snotlout (6:45pm): I mean obviously though Astrid does what she wants or who she wants  
Snotlout (6:45pm): when she wants

Hiccup (6:46pm):  That’s…good to hear.  I guess.  I’m going to ignore you now, because you’re disgusting but…I’m glad about that, at least


	16. Chapter 16

Facts about Snotlout:

  1. He can manage almost 24 hours of the silent treatment, at least
  2. He leaves his shit everywhere, shit like 3 socks and a sweatshirt and a notebook that says history but doesn’t have anything but doodles in margins of empty pages
  3. He doesn’t have 3 feet but still manages to leave 3 socks.  
  4. His face is an open book. He can’t keep secrets even if he doesn’t explicitly say them out loud. 
  5. He never told her when his sling was coming off



 

Hiccup (6:50pm): It wasn’t mutual, was it?

Astrid groans, dropping her phone on her bed and covering it with a blanket.  That’s not something she wants to deal with today.  Or ever, really, because lying was working for her in a million little ways.  Ruffnut looks up, breaking her vow to ignore Astrid until she gets some detail about Snotlout’s sexual performance or their angry thing that was almost a fight. 

“Hiccup just texted me.”  Astrid almost adds ‘for the first time since school started’, but she doesn’t even want to think about it.  About why now. 

Because she’s mad enough at Snotlout and cut up enough about being mad. 

“What’d he say?”  Ruffnut swivels in her desk chair, clicking her pen a couple of times before doodling on the side of her hand. 

“He asked if our breakup was mutual.  But you know, with the tone that it wasn’t.” 

“Oof,” Ruffnut sighs, “that’s no fun.  You could just tell him you secretly fucked Snotlout, I bet that’d scare him off.” 

“God, what if he already knows?”  What if whoever told him the breakup wasn’t good for her told him that…well, everything. 

She wonders just how hard it would be to get Snotlout’s body folded in a standard suitcase.  Just, you know, for science. 

Ruffnut shrugs, “you’d probably tell him about any family resemblances you won’t tell me.” 

“If you’re so interested in Snotlout’s dick just go look at it, Jesus, it’s not like he’s shy.” 

“Not shy, that’s the most revealing thing you’ve told me,” Ruffnut shakes her head, “I should thank Hiccup, breaking down your special forces torture proof face from a continent away.” 

“He does not.” 

“He kinda does,” Ruffnut sets her pen back down, “what are you going to say to him?” 

“Fuck it,” she sits up and grabs her phone, “how about the truth?  It’s been going so well for me lately.” 

Astrid (6:59pm): Not really

“Adventurous,” Ruffnut picks her book up and reads it on her lap, still facing Astrid like she’s waiting for an update or another lapse in judgement. 

Which she didn’t even have, because Snotlout is kind of shy.  Was kind of shy, at least at first, until he found his way around.  Until they started laughing and playing stupid games with homework and sneaking around after practice.  Just because he dropped his pants doesn’t mean he wasn’t shy in other, more real ways. 

Hiccup (7:02pm): Because I accepted before I talked to you

Astrid (7:03pm): Didn’t really put us on level ground  
Astrid (7:03pm): Especially since I lost my acceptance

It’s not fun to say, but she feels lighter.  More aimless, more sad, but like she’s carrying less with her while she wanders around with the bit of her drive that didn’t get cut out with a tumor. 

“Jeez,” Ruffnut frowns, wrinkling her nose when Astrid looks up at her. 

“What?” 

“You just look super miserable all of a sudden.” 

“Thanks for knowing when I can really use tough love, Ruff.”  Astrid rolls her eyes.  She hasn’t slept well, that’s why she’s miserable.  But that’s what she gets for depending on external sources to get to sleep.  That was a bad idea too. 

Hiccup (7:05pm): I just wanted to go

Astrid (7:06pm): I know

Hiccup (7:06pm): And I just didn’t want anyone to remember when I was sick

Astrid (7:06pm): I know that too

“Hot, brooding miserable, like do you want to borrow my leather jacket and smoke cigarettes outside a high school?  Because you’d do great with anyone being forced to read The Scarlet Letter, but…still miserable.”

“I don’t even want to know how your mind works.” 

Hiccup (7:10pm): And you were never going to forget it  
Hiccup (7:10pm): No matter what I did you’d always think of me puking on the floor

Astrid (7:11pm): No that’s what you think of when you see me  
Astrid (7:11pm): I never pitied you

That feels good to stay, good in an angry, petty way that she’s not supposed to cave into.  It’s the kind of victory that feels best with Snotlout, when he realizes he was wrong and his face goes all slack while he looks for something else to latch onto.  With Hiccup it feels like a chess move on a board she can’t see where he starts with more pieces than her. 

“You’ve been sort of happy, haven’t you?”  Ruffnut strokes her chin, “I mean, I noticed you were more chill about my socks and stuff but I thought it was because you were busy, but it was…like your whole everything changed when Hiccup texted you.” 

“Well it’s not a happy conversation.” 

“But you were happy while you were hanging out with Snotlout and nudity, maybe…I mean,” her face falls and her mouth moves silently for a moment, “oh my god I’ve been the shittiest friend.” 

“You’ve been fine, you knocked me back to my senses.” 

“Yeah, and now you’re glaring at your phone being miserable about Hiccup all over again.” 

“That has nothing to do with you.”

Hiccup (7:14pm): Of course you did, I was sick and you weren’t, that’s just human, of course you pitied me

Astrid (7:15pm): No I didn’t  
Astrid (7:15pm): I…you did that, that’s why it wasn’t mutual.  You put words in my mouth.  You decided I pitied you because you felt pitiable.  You decided I wanted what was easy because you wanted to go.    
Astrid (7:16pm): You’re only saying this now because you feel guilty for some reason, not because you’re going to listen to anything I say

She doesn’t know how she gets that out, really, she doesn’t know why that mouthy gear is so well oiled.  Normally she plays the chess game.  That’s what she always did with Hiccup, it’s one of the things she loved, the way he took her words and actions and never responded the same way.  The way everything felt like kind of a plan. 

She liked that until she realized she wasn’t necessarily foundational in that plan.  That she could be detached when convenient. 

“It’s like me and Eret, you remember Eret, my TA in my summer course?”  Ruffnut asks like she’s not expecting an answer and Astrid laughs. 

“I went to court with you.” 

“I knew that wasn’t going to be easy and I knew there would be judgement because we were unorthodox and you stood by me.  You didn’t judge me for choosing someone older and European and ‘against the rules’,” Ruffnut air quotes, “you saw that he was making me happy—”

“That’s not what happened, I told you definitely not to do anything—”

“And me being happy was more important to you than like, looking at his arms, so you didn’t—”

“Because he was literally employed by the college—”

“And you supported me when I had to escalate, and convince him that I cared, above everything, for him—”

“You left a decapitated stuffed animal on his porch—”

“And I should have noticed that Snotlout kind of makes you happy.”  Ruffnut finishes like Astrid had never interrupted her and Astrid raises an eyebrow. 

“Or maybe I was just distracted and now I’m not.”  It’s an easier answer.  A true answer, really, because now she has nothing to distract her from everything she did to line up the laundry list of everything that she now has to do. 

Her phone buzzes twice and she doesn’t look at it, fiddling with a corner of her blanket.  It’s like she doesn’t have a side, all of a sudden, like everything in her life is in a battle royale free for all and everyone’s taking a hit.  Ruffnut’s flip-flopping between interrogating her and putting stupid ideas into her head.  Hiccup’s showing up out of the blue to dig up an old unfinished fight.  Snotlout’s jabbing at her in places she didn’t know he could hurt. 

Now she just needs Tuffnut critiquing her transfer admission essays and she’ll have the whole damn set. 

“Ok, but what if I hadn’t found it out?”  Ruffnut nibbles on a fingernail, “hypothetically, if you and Snotlout were capable of shutting off that weird, post-fucking antagonism for even a second, what would have happened?” 

“You didn’t figure it out from me, Ruff, don’t kid yourself.”

“Seriously,” she snorts, “no one is that mean to someone they don’t like.  We all know if you don’t like someone that’s when you’re super polite and frigid, not knowing their coffee order and letting them tease you without beating their head in.” 

“Ok, but it’s me and Snotlout, that’s just how it’s always been.  He pisses me off, we fight about it.”  Astrid shrugs, “and when we started doing it more often it started being funny, kind of, I guess.  Like there’s no trophy to bicker over anymore—”

“And you were burning off all that anger with sex, apparently.” 

“I guess.”  Astrid looks at her phone but doesn’t open any messages.  Just sees a few false starts she realizes she can’t finish. 

Because she can’t read Hiccup’s mind anymore and she doesn’t want to.  A hidden chess board she’ll never see just doesn’t seem that desirable anymore. 

“But like if I hadn’t found out, what would have happened?” 

“I think you would have found out, I think it was inevitable,” she shrugs, “I mean, it was kind of escalating, in a bad way, ever since he got hurt.  Like we didn’t even have sex every time we hung out anymore.  And I kept falling asleep after we did because I’m taking on all that team captain work and—”

“So you’re making a bunch of excuses to say you would have kept having sex with him, but also doing other stuff too.  Almost like you two were friends—”

“Which is crazy because…”

Because it’s _Snotlout_. 

“Because why?”  Ruffnut looks like she’s sniffing something out and Astrid sighs. 

“I’m trying to deal with Hiccup.” 

Hiccup (7:20pm): How else could it have gone?  We would have been long distance across the Atlantic and that doesn’t make any sense, I thought we were just being practical and now Snotlout is telling me you’re still upset about it and what else could I have done?  How could I have done it better?  I get that it was hard but I was just trying to do what was best for everybody  
Hiccup (7:22pm): And why did I have to hear it from Snotlout?  I thought we were still going to be friends, you could have told me, we could have talked about it or something  
Hiccup (7:23pm): It’s not that I don’t miss you or that I thought I wouldn’t miss you, I was just trying to move on and take this opportunity and it’s just…you always knew what you wanted and if I didn’t leave to figure it out I could just see where everything was going to go and I needed to breathe after all that time stuck in bed   
Hiccup (7:28pm): And I know all of that makes sense but it’s killing me thinking you’re mad about it

Astrid counts the ‘I’s.  She thinks of all the words Hiccup thinks she should have said.  And maybe he is right, maybe she should have fought harder, maybe she should have followed him instead of staying here and clinging to the scraps left of her big old dream.  The one he doesn’t acknowledge as dead, even though he was there when she killed it, trying to do what was right and failing at what was important. 

Mostly it hits her that she’s not that upset about it.  That she’s staring at these words that should make her want to fight but there’s no clear thing she’d be fighting for.  She’d be fighting to not be wrong, she’d be fighting for that girl who had everything but Hiccup and didn’t notice until she had neither.  She’d be fighting for him to think she wanted him to go. 

But she didn’t.  And she’s not that girl anymore.  She wishes she were, in some ways, that she hadn’t fallen on her face and climbed back to her feet by being stupid and lonely.  By reaching for that part of herself that was always reliably angry and fast and combative. 

Astrid (7:30): It went the way it went, I was upset about it, I’m getting over it  
Astrid (7:30): You could have checked in too, but you were busy, and I wasn’t mad at you about it  
Astrid (7:30): I’m not mad at you

“What’s he saying?”  Ruffnut’s frowning again, “because you look seriously miserable.” 

“He’s giving me all these reasons why I shouldn’t be upset.”  Astrid exhales, “I don’t know.  He’s probably right.”

“So it’s going well?” 

“No, it’s going really bad,” Astrid laughs, “I don’t care that he’s right.  Like…good for him.” 

She scrolls up through the text thread.  Sees things like ‘I’m glad we’re still friends’ and her checking in on him.  She sees a day she missed a game and didn’t tell him.  She doesn’t see any of the closeness she remembers, she sees something that hurts because she doesn’t have it anymore, but it would hurt to shove it through the scar it left when it disappeared.  And she could do it.  She could repunch the hole, she could get back what she used to have and feel like she lost a few months and ended up back on flat ground and back on track. 

Or she could accept that the last few months happened and that something in her shifted and that’s why she’s not leaping for another shot with Hiccup.  Because she’s changed, she doesn’t care if he’s right, she doesn’t care if she’s wrong.  Because that means she should change her mind and she isn’t going to. 

The right thing to do can be shitty.  Snotlout telling Hiccup that she was anything but perfectly happy might have been right but she could kill him for it.  Hiccup leaving was right but it hurt.  Her missing her senior season was the right thing to do but it lost her everything she’d worked for. 

Hiccup (7:32pm): How is it that we made it through cancer but not a few hours time-difference?  
Hiccup (7:33pm): I’ve just never thought about how silly that is before

Astrid (7:33pm): Of course it sounds silly when you put it like that

“Honestly though, where does Snotlout get off telling Hiccup anything about me?”  She drops the phone and she’s angry again, that confusing, Hiccup-induced calm fading all at once. 

“Where does he get off?  Please, just tell me, put me out of my misery.”  Ruffnut’s too quiet to mean it and Astrid stands up, pacing back and forth down the middle of their room. 

“I mean why the fuck would he tell Hiccup anything?  Especially about me, was he gloating because I didn’t want to play this stupid game anymore?  That sounds like something he’d fucking do, as soon as he’s not getting his way he goes and embarrasses me to Hiccup—”

“Wait, why are you ranting about Snotlout now?  I thought you were texting Hiccup.” 

“I was.  Am.  I don’t know,” she stops walking.  She doesn’t really want to continue the conversation, it feels like there’s no point, there’s no direction that gets her anything but confused all over again.  No matter how it goes she’s going to regret something.  “But why the fuck does Snotlout think it’s any of his business?  He probably told Hiccup just to piss him off or just to piss me off, so I start talking to him again because—because he’s a loser with no friends and he has to be missing me by now.” 

“I thought you two weren’t friends.” 

“We _aren’t_ ,” Astrid looks at the ground, “I wonder if Hiccup knows.  I wonder if Snotlout told him why the hell he was talking about me.  I bet it’s gloating, gloating is obvious.” 

“So let me get this straight,” Ruffnut presses her fingertips together and nods, “you’re texting your ex-boyfriend of a year who devastated you when he moved away to ask about your fuckbuddy’s _tone_.” 

“I don’t need your approval,” Astrid sits back down on the edge of her bed. 

Astrid (7:36pm): Why did Snotlout text you anyway?  Like, what was he doing?  Was he gloating about something or something? 

“What if Snotlout didn’t tell him you two had a thing?” 

“It wasn’t a _thing_ ,” Astrid fires off another text.  It feels stupid, like playing telephone at a sleepover as a kid. 

Astrid (7:37pm): Not that he has anything to gloat about, he’s probably just making it up, you know him

Hiccup (7:38pm): I texted him about Ruffnut

Astrid (7:38pm): Yeah, but what did he say?

Hiccup starts typing and deletes it twice.  Astrid exhales, frustrated, and Ruffnut starts tapping her foot like she legitimately enjoys being as annoying as possible. 

“So just to repeat, again, your ex-boyfriend, who you _loved_ is trying to figure out what happened to your relationship, and you’re interrogating him about Snotlout.  Snotlout Jorgenson, our Snotlout, who lives a five minute walk away.”  Ruffnut sighs, “and who you had secret sex with for five and a half weeks.  Until you started hanging out too and being so disgustingly obvious that you rubbed your lies in my face.” 

“I never rubbed anything in your face.” 

Astrid (7:40pm): Just tell me, his arm’s hurt, I’m not going to beat up injured Snotlout, I’ll wait until he’s all better

Hiccup (7:41pm): You realize it’s almost two in the morning here

Astrid (7:41pm): Yeah and you could have told me that earlier if you actually cared, stop avoiding the question

Hiccup (7:42pm): He said you were acting like yourself again.  And I kind of see what he means.  That had me shaking an ocean away. 

Astrid (7:43pm): So you’re going to sit there and tell me that he didn’t text you gloating that we hooked up?  The least you can do is tell me the truth about that

“Hiccup’s trying to tell me that Snotlout didn’t even brag about us sleeping together,” Astrid huffs, “which like…that’s impossible, of course he did.”  She frowns, “I mean, probably not out of the blue, but I bet it came up.  It’s _Snotlout_.” 

“And he’s almost as bad at lying as you.” 

“I’m not _bad_ at lying, I just don’t do it much because—”

“Because you’re bad at it—”

“I am not bad at lying!  There’s nothing to be bad at, it’s just saying not the truth, that’s not a skill.” 

“Wow, you’re just like Snotlout, everything’s a competition with you.”  Ruffnut rolls her eyes.  She’s smiling, that creepy little smile she smiles when the library gets a new book on serial killers. 

Hiccup (7:45pm): Why do you care if he did?

“Now Hiccup is asking me why I care if Snotlout told him, like it’s not obvious—”

“Is it obvious, Astrid?  Why do you care?  Please, share with the class.” 

“Because that ruins it,” Astrid blurts out, her brain whirring a second to catch up with her mouth, “because it wasn’t something for him to brag about, it was…” She looks at her phone and sighs, “because I guess some parts of it were kind of important.  We both said and did things that mattered and if he’s running around gloating, then he’s doing it just to hurt me and he _knows_ that.” 

Astrid (7:47pm): Because it’s no one’s business but ours.

Hiccup (7:48pm): If you have business with him, maybe you should talk to him before one of you freaks out and moves to I don’t know, Germany or something

Astrid laughs, nodding to herself.  Because suddenly Hiccup seems like he could be a friend and not just an ex and because for the first time in a long time, it doesn’t feel like he’s testing her wits.  It feels like he sacrificed a pawn so her queen could evade his castle. 

Astrid (7:49pm): Me and Snotlout?  Talking?  How long do you think you’ve been away?  Decades?  Centuries? 

Hiccup (7:50pm): In a measurement of general Snotlout maturity, I’d give it about an eon.  
Hiccup (7:50pm): I’ve got to go to bed, because it is actually almost two and it has been a very weird night, for me, so…

Astrid (7:51pm): yeah, goodnight

She tosses her phone onto her pillow and stares at Ruffnut for a second, trying to look past that creepy, know it all smile and figure out what’s going on in her own head. 

“Why do we hate Snotlout, anyway?”  She mumbles, scratching the back of her head.  “He’s…I mean, yeah, he’s really annoying and he thinks he has to be the best at everything and he’s like…he’s ridiculous.  But where does that tone come from, that _Snotlout_ , like it’s an insult or something?” 

Ruffnut shrugs, “habit, I guess.  And it’s funny.” 

“No, it’s not,” Astrid snaps, “it sucks.  It’s stupid.  He’s not any worse than the rest of us.” 

“So I should assume he’s above average in bed, then,” Ruffnut nods, “interesting.” 

“Oh fuck off.” 


	17. Chapter 17

Facts about Astrid:

  1. If she’s stalking someone, she’s horrifyingly stealthy
  2. If she isn’t stalking that same someone, they are probably still afraid
  3. She isn’t dating Hiccup again, yet
  4. There’s a rumor she’s transferring in the spring
  5. The only thing more infuriating than dealing with her is not talking to her at all



 

Snotlout gets to stop wearing the sling at three weeks and it feels like he spends the next week in the gym, trying to fix that pasty, sagging, deflated thing his entire arm has going on.  And there are tests, and a game out of state that he tags along on the bus for, because even if he can’t play he can talk about how much better he’d play if he could, and he feels more normal anywhere he can’t see the ghost of a blonde ponytail around every corner. 

And after a couple of weeks of silence, Astrid is starting to feel like just that, a ghost.  Like a crush that blew up and went from an undead menace to a fog that keeps appearing in the corner of his eye.  But he should know better than that, because everything about her is far too substantial to remain ghostly, and it’s only a matter of time before she runs into him, literally, at the library, while she’s making a bee-line for the last available table and texting too fast to look up. 

“Watch where you’re going!”  She snaps, eyes widening when she sees him.  “Oh.  Shit.” 

“You can have the table if it’s that important to you,” he rubs his shoulder.  She twitches like she’s going to touch it and then takes a big step back. 

“You got the sling off!”  She clears her throat, “I mean, congratulations.” 

“Thanks.” 

“Will you be able to finish the season?”  She adjusts her backpack on her shoulder and looks at the table again, glaring at someone else edging towards it before shifting that direction.  “I mean there’s still a few weeks left, right?” 

He wants to ask her why the fuck he cares.  He never wants her to stop talking to him.  Already, his memories seem flat, like someone undeserving of holding onto her image colored them with RoseArt crayons from the dollar store.  She raises an eyebrow like she’s annoyed he hasn’t answered her yet and starts pulling notebooks out of her backpack and setting them in front of all 4 chairs. 

“Someone joining you?” 

“I just want the whole table so I’m faking a couple of study buddies who are going to spend the entirety of the next 3 hours in the bathroom,” she sets her backpack in a chair and hangs her jacket over another one before standing behind a third.  “If you wanted to sit, I guess—”

“No, you take it.  You must really want it if you went all battering ram on a recently injured athlete, important to your school’s reputation, to get it.” 

She doesn’t laugh.  It feels like if he moves his lips his mouth will fill up with awkward sawdust. 

“I honestly didn’t see you,” she’s somewhere between defensive and light, like she wants to fight but doesn’t have time and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt so _outgrown_.  “That’ll teach me to text and walk, I guess.” 

He coughs.  She opens her mouth like she’s going to say something but doesn’t.  Her hair’s longer, the braid hanging over her shoulder covering half the logo on her tee-shirt.  He wonders what would happen if he picked a fight.  If he dove head first and asked her how Hiccup’s doing, just because he knows it’d piss her off. 

“I haven’t seen you around.”  Her tone is almost flawlessly neutral but her shoulders are tight, the way they used to get before she blew up at him.  “Have you been avoiding Ruffnut?”  She tries to joke, and it’s almost real, like she wants it to be as much as he does. 

“Even more than usual, yeah,” he nods, “and you know, physical therapy, in the gym a lot.  Tests…” He could mention math, either piss her off or make her laugh, but then he’d ask about Hiccup because his self-control is badly bruised by sexless, miserable weeks after his impossibly lucky streak. 

“Are you taking a break for the party at Beta tonight?”  Again, that fake peppy voice that’s more devastating than flat, sad Astrid because she’s not flat and sad over him while he sort of feels like someone stomped gravel into his lungs. 

“Why?  So you can avoid me?”  He snaps in spite of better intentions and she sighs, slumping into the chair like she’s going to start right up ignoring me now. 

“I was just trying to be _normal_.” 

“You’re not normally that nice to me, so good try but—”

“And you’ve been avoiding me, not the other way around, I’m just doing what I normally do—”

“And never running into me even though we used to see each other all the time, right, likely story—”

“I physically ran into you like 3 minutes ago, are you concussed?  I thought your shoulder was the problem but I should have guessed it was your head, as always.”  She opens a notebook with so much force a page rips out and she crumples it and throws it across the hall to the recycle bin by the shelf on the other side. 

“Nothing but net.” 

She scoffs and rolls her eyes, “it bounced off the side.” 

“No it didn’t, I’m standing, I can see it better.” 

She gives him a long, withering look and it’s hotter than calculus and hurts more than that calculus test in his tighter pair of jeans. 

“It was a good shot.” 

“I’m not avoiding you,” she pulls a pencil out of her bag and looks up at him briefly before bending over her homework.  “I’ve just been really busy.” 

“Well, me too,” he crosses his arms, “like I said, physical therapy and that means I’m at the gym at weird times so it’s probably why I haven’t run into you because I’m not avoiding you either.” 

“Good,” she looks at the table, “I’ve got a lot of homework so…”

“Fine,” he sighs, “I’ll go not avoid you somewhere else then.” 

“Good luck with that.” 

“I don’t need luck,” he turns around and walks to a different part of the library, doing a couple of aimless circles and finding no empty tables before giving up and walking back outside. 

This is, quite frankly, a disaster. 

No matter how he tries to think of it, he messed up.  Somehow.  He’s not quite sure how.  It could have been when Astrid ran out after Ruffnut found out.  He could have followed her, talked some sense into her before she went and got all…he doesn’t even know.  All he knows is that one minute, they were having fun and the next she was moping over Hiccup and ignoring him. 

So that means it probably went wrong before that, it could have been when he got injured and she wanted to be all helpful, and maybe he should have just let her but after that things seemed even better for a while.  Like yeah, they were having less sex, but pardon his dick for being medically discouraged from inflaming.  But it was still good, like, they talked more. 

Which is probably the point of disaster. 

That’s…that’s it, it went downhill the second he started like, trying not to like her.  That’s when it happened, when he got to the point where he wouldn’t have cared if she stopped having sex with him altogether as long as she still came around.  Feelings fucked it up.  Those stupid feelings. 

And those only started because like, they had a lot of sex and were together a lot and had inside jokes and if a girl falls asleep and drools on him, he’s like, only human and he’s going to feel something. 

He should have kept banging other people. 

If only not having time to bang people wasn’t what started all of this in the first place. 

But like…maybe if he went and had sex with somebody, he’d end up post-coitally infatuated with them and he and Astrid could keep doing whatever they were doing in the first place.  Like, the good, happy parts of it.  The parts where they weren’t confused and they just, you know, had sex and hung out and laughed and like…that kind of stuff. 

And if all it takes is him doing some random person to get back to that then he can bring his A-game to that party Astrid mentioned because God, how is he now someone who doesn’t know where any of the parties are because he retreated to social Berk to avoid Astrid? But he knows about one, and he’s going to go to it, and he doesn’t need any luck, and he’s going to fix this with Astrid by having sex with someone else. 


	18. Chapter 18

Facts about Snotlout:

  1. Running into him, literally, hurts more than expected. He is solid with a low center of gravity.
  2. Even when he’s trying to be mean, he sort of sucks at it
  3. He’s hard to get used to and harder to forget
  4. He can argue about anything and he’s never deterred no matter how many times he always loses
  5. Like most stubborn, short-sighted, loud, competitive, caring, understanding things, he’s worth the hassle.



 

Astrid falls face first into her pillow, backpack still on, when she gets back from the library.  She groans.  Ruffnut throws something at her butt with entirely too much force and she groans again. 

“Did you finally talk to Snotlout?”  Ruffnut asks, like it’s not a big deal and Astrid tosses her backpack on the floor and rolls over. 

“I ran into him.” 

“Good!” 

“Literally.” 

“Is he ok?” 

“He’s fine, we talked.”  Astrid throws her arm over her eyes and exhales, “and he says he’s not avoiding me but I had to walk really fast to catch him.” 

“And run into him.” 

“I was walking like, _really_ fast when I caught him, and it would have been weird to just talk to him.  So I just…boom, ran into him.”  She laughs, “I pretended I was texting.  He bought it, I think.  Then I had to do homework for two hours at the library to pretend I was actually there to do homework and to not just…run him down.  I’m a week ahead in English.” 

Ruffnut shakes her head, “what’s wrong with you?  It’s Snotlout, just ask him out, what’s he going to say?  No?” 

“I don’t know!  I don’t know if I even want to ask him out, I don’t—I don’t know anything.” 

“You know you want another serving of the Jorgenson special, and guess what, tonight it’s penis.” 

“ _Stop_ ,” Astrid groans again, “I was never this awkward with Hiccup.  I’ve never been awkward like this at all before, normally I just…go do it, but Snotlout turns everything into an argument.” 

“Right, that’s such a unique problem.” 

“He said he’s not avoiding me.”  Astrid sighs, “I think I just need to…hope he shows up at the party tonight and talk to him.  About…I don’t know.  Something.” 

“Oh my god, how about you talk to him about the fact that five and a half weeks of secret sex led to you having something like feelings for him?” 

“Because that sounds…”

“Like the truth?”  Ruffnut throws something else at her.  Astrid flinches. 

“Like something he could throw in my face.” 

“Then I’ll kill him.” 

“No.”  Astrid sits up and wipes her face on her hands, “no, I’m the only one who gets to kill him.” 

“Then you have to talk to him before I kill him.” 

“Fine.  I’ll talk to him tonight.” 

“Or mourn his untimely demise,” Ruffnut gives her best impression of an evil laugh and Astrid lays back down, trying not to look at the clock. 

She doesn’t know how she feels.  Honestly.  She only knows that she does.  And that she misses him.  And that she misses all of him, even the parts she shouldn’t know yet.  She…

It can’t happen again, it just can’t, even if she’s the one leaving this time.  Even if it’s only two hours away.  Even if it’s not cancer but an exhumed scholarship dug up with a great season and complete, overbearing determination.  Even if it’s Snotlout and even if that doesn’t sound like a bad thing anymore.  

She can’t let it happen again. She won’t. 

Ruffnut drives to the party, which is a vote of confidence, honestly, because she’s not expecting to be sober very long and she must really be thinking that Astrid has a chance.  Which, again, is ridiculous, because it’s _Snotlout_ and even though that’s not bad it’s at least comfortable.  And he talked to her today, and…and she should have brought a math book, or something, because she ignored him for like more than two weeks and it…she doesn’t know how to explain that. 

Does she say that she waited to miss him?  Or that she didn’t expect it to happen as immediately as it did and then she didn’t know what to do about feeling _dependent_ so soon after finally talking to Hiccup?  Does she tell him she’s leaving and that she didn’t know that when she stopped talking to him and that it’s the biggest reason it’s hard to start again? 

Or does she just…halfway lie and tell her that she likes him when she’s not sure?  And even if she were sure, being sure wouldn’t be good enough because well…it’s Snotlout and he could argue for hours about _sure_ and she just can’t anymore. 

She could, theoretically just…drag him into a corner or a bedroom or a bathroom or a backseat and not talk at all.  Overall, that is the best option with absolutely no forward or lateral movement. 

Or both.  Depending on the location. 

The party is still sluggish when they get there and Astrid hates the idea of hanging around, idly planning a million bad plans for hours until Snotlout does or does not show up.  He might just not show.  He is avoiding her, because otherwise she definitely would have run into him while avoiding him because it’s not a huge campus and he’s probably not coming tonight. 

She almost texts him. 

And then she sees him.  Comfortable on a similar couch to where this bullshit all started, arm around some redhead and it makes her chest feel wrong.  Because she didn’t think of that, she didn’t think he’d just find someone else, he’s _Snotlout_.  Except why couldn’t he find someone else?  Someone less…with less history with his cousin and family and issues. 

He’s _Snotlout_ , he’s strong and kind of handsome and sweet and better than he thinks he is and he could find someone less overbearing in a minute.  He did, obviously. 

And she’s staring. And it’s awkward.  And it’s a moment where it’s right and noble and good to walk away, where she _knows_ she should walk away. 

But that’s one of those infamous shoulds.  That’s one of those lines Snotlout has never existed within, because he’s always been special and extra and outside ‘supposed to’ and ‘have to’ and _should_. 

And she doesn’t know what she wants, but she knows she wants to punch that red head Snotlout poacher in the face. 

“Can we talk?”  She leans on the couch next to him, like she did a few months ago, and he looks annoyed, like he did then.  Except now she knows it’s not real annoyance, it’s expectation, it’s…he might want to fight with her.  Maybe.  If she’s lucky. 

“It’s loud.  I can’t hear you,” he rolls his eyes. 

She almost slides down into his lap because it’d be funny and satisfying and he might look at her like he was happy about it, but Mr. Ginger 2017 is staring at her like she’s interrupting something.  Something she suddenly can’t even think about because no one else should ever do anything like that.  Because that’s _theirs_ , in all of its incarnations.  Because naked math homework and heavy arms around shoulders and that expectant, trying-too-hard-to-be-cool expression is theirs.  Hers. 

“Slut, scram.”  Her mouth moves before her brain and Snotlout freezes, eyebrows raising slowly when no one else says anything. 

“Slut?”  The redhead frowns. 

“Throk, she doesn’t mean that—“

“Scram,” Astrid repeats.  The ginger gets up.  She glares.  He leaves. 

“Scram?”  Snotlout whispers to himself, “am I being cockblocked by a 1940’s gangster?”

“I’m not cockblocking you, I’m trying to talk to you.” 

“Right, like those aren’t the same thing.” 

“Can you not?”  She sighs, “I’m trying to be serious here.” 

“By opening with ‘slut, scram’—”

“No, by opening with how dare you?”  She lets herself feel that weird, authentic anger that makes her want to say things and finish things and lift this stupid weight from herself, “how could you tell Hiccup about any of this, about me, about—that was none of your business and—”

“So you’re here to fight—”

“I’m here to explain something.”  She frowns, “everything.  Fuck.  Can we go outside?” 

“I can’t hear you.” 

“Yes, I said that,” she stands up and grabs his former good hand, pulling him to his feet, “I get it, you’re mad because I said that, but come on.” 

“Astrid the Manhandling McFreakishly-strong,” he yanks his arm away and she lets him, “maybe I was _doing_ something—”

“Or someone.  Or trying to do someone.”  She wants to reach for his hand again but he’s not offering it and she wishes they were anywhere else.  That they could just play strip conflict dissolution and laugh and be done with this.  “Someone other than me.  And that’s…just no.  Fuck.”  She looks at the door that he’s not walking towards and sighs, “don’t do that.  I don’t want you to do that.” 

“What?”  He frowns, “are you saying you don’t want me to fuck other people because that’s like, directly opposed to the spirit of—”

“Stop,” she shakes her head.  She wants to touch his shoulder to make sure that it’s there and not hurt and… “I…I ran into you on purpose, earlier.  I was trying to talk to you but you were walking away and—”

“So instead of just answering my texts, you got violent?”  He laughs.  She hates it because there’s that stupid little lurch in her chest like she’s seeing something else, something more, something that she doesn’t want anyone else to see because…because they didn’t work for it through layer after layer of arrogance and sweetness and confusion. 

“It wasn’t violent.”  She swallows, “Hiccup tried to talk to me and I didn’t give a shit, I was just furious with you for…for telling people things that were supposed to be ours.  And you trying to have sex with some random person isn’t helping anything when I’m trying to talk to you—” 

“About how now you want to tell me who I can and cannot have sex with because you forgot that we aren’t friends—”

“You’re one of my best friends, idiot,” she shoves him in the shoulder and he doesn’t wince and she feels immature and out of control and he should have just walked outside before she embarrasses them both, “and I don’t know when that happened but it did.  And I miss you.”  She pushes him again, he doesn’t move and it’s not really a push, it’s more of an excuse to touch him and she hates that she needs one.  “And I got in.  To state, I mean, with a scholarship and—”

“Of course you did,” he snorts like she’s exhausting, “I said you would.” 

“You could let me finish.” 

“You’re going, right?” 

“Well…” She looks around at all the people around them, because he’s an idiot who won’t just walk outside and deal with things.  Because he’s stubborn and combative and competitive and she knows he’s going to be happy for her even though he hates it.  “Yeah.” 

“Good,” he shakes his head and takes a step back, “you’re making all of us look bad here.” 

He smiles.  It’s genuine and half-hearted and she knows he likes her too in a way that never really seemed bedrock obvious with Hiccup.  Because he’s an open book and he compliments her like it’s half insult and he can’t keep a secret with his mouth shut. 

“And you don’t get to sleep with anyone else,” she shakes her head, “and you really should have just gone outside, because I—I’m one of your best friends too and you know it and I know it and I don’t know why you’re lying about it, it’s stupid.  You’re stupid.  And I’m not—I’m not doing this right—”

“If it’s so important for you, let’s just go outside—”

“It’s too late for that,” she snaps, leaning forward and kissing him and it’s in public and no one cares and there’s no practical intent to it and he really, really needs that haircut.  “State’s only two hours away.” 

“Drunk Ruffnut’s hooting at us.” 

“I know, I have ears,” she grabs his hand and it’s not exciting, it’s relieving, it’s a breath of fresh air in a crowded, loud, too warm room. 

“I told Hiccup because I like you too much for him to come step all over you again,” he confesses and it’s not an apology and she wants one, but later.  “And because I was pissed you weren’t talking to me.” 

“That sounds about right.” 

“And I thought if I fucked someone else, we’d be able to go back to casually having sex five or six times a week.” 

“That’s a stupid plan, I would have been so pissed,” she scoffs and this should feel weirder, this whole thing should have been weirder this whole time.  “Lucky for me you have no game, at all, because that girl told that drunk guy that your parents are siblings—“

“Don’t remind me—”

“And then that same girl called the only guy you could get to talk to you a _slut_ —”

“How about we just _date_ while I still think it’s a good idea?”  He sounds like he’s never asked anyone that before and she knows what his unique brand of hesitance and arrogance sounds like and everything unexpected that he’s guarding underneath.

“That would probably be easier.” 


End file.
